


F.M.L.

by Covenmouse



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 09:06:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse
Summary: "Then you push your car down a hill and they push it back up and you watch them and realize they didn’t mean to hurt you, because they, you, no one, from one moment to the next, has any fucking idea what they’re doing.”





	F.M.L.

 

> _Then you push your car down a hill and they push it back up and you watch them and realize they didn’t mean to hurt you, because they, you, no one, from one moment to the next, has any fucking idea what they’re doing._

_—_ [ _The Year in Cheating_ ](http://www.theawl.com/2012/12/the-year-in-cheating) _, Sarah Miller_

  


I hear my name called and turn to find Ikuko Tsukino approaching as frantically as her pencil skirt and heels will allow.  As soon as she is close enough to do so, she leans forward and lowers her voice; “We have a situation.”

The church Usagi and Mamoru chose is a quaint and quiet country affair surrounded by rolling green hills and forest.  It also houses a rather large bird population.  Mamoru’s cherished Mercedes, just detailed that morning, is covered in white splotches and feathers.  Ikuko grips her arms and purses her lips.  “We have time,” she says, “but not much. Usagi just went to change.”

“We have time.”  It took us four hours to get Usagi into that dress without ripping anything, I doubt they’ll get it off any more quickly.  Just then the back door bangs open; Jed and Nathaniel, two of Mamoru’s groomsmen, whistle appreciatively of the pigeon’s work.    
  
“Nathan,” I snap, and he hides a bag of flour behind his back like I hadn’t already seen it.  “Go see if you can find some rags and soap in the kitchen.  Jed, help me with the hose.”   
  
They look at each other a moment, then Nathan nods and ducks back inside.  I’ve already found the hose tangled in the mud behind the back chapel stair.  I fight with it a moment before Jed takes it from my hands.  “You look nice today,” he says, glancing at my dress.  “Maybe you should let us--”

“You’re wearing Armani,” I point out, with an arched brow.  “We need as much help as we can get.”  
  
I turn to Ikuko but she’s gone, off to coordinate something else...or just trying to get away from this.  Swallowing a surge of resentment, and reminding myself that her daughter is about to leave,  I find a gardening bucket tipped over near the shed, beat most of the dirt out, and set it by the car for Jed to fill.  Nathan returns with dish soap and towels and we we get to work.

A flicker of light catches my attention. Through the windshield I can see a small glass rose hanging by a chain from the rearview mirror.  My throat tightens as the screams I’ve been swallowing all day threaten to rip my soul in half.  

“I’ve got to say, Rei,” Jed says softly from the other side of the car, “I was surprised you’re doing this.”

“Usagi’s my friend,” I say, but the words are hollow.  

He and Nathan both look at me; Nathan turns away first.  I square my shoulders and concentrate on cleaning _His_ car.  I don’t care what they think, I tell myself as I fight to keep the blankness that has consumed me these past several months, knowing I will regret it if I don’t.  But I can’t believe he kept that fucking hood ornament.

Mamoru always loved roses.  He’d been obsessed with them since he was a kid; they grew in a small garden off the children’s wing of the hospital, and he’d sit beside them every day watching as they bloomed.  Since then he’s had a garden at every home he’s lived in, whether it was in a small pot on his dorm room window sill or the atrium he now spends his Sundays meticulously grooming.  In the back of my mind I can still hear him singing to his plants, his ridiculously off-key, tuneless voice muted through the glass.  

When I saw the rose as I was running errands that morning I knew it would be perfect for him.  I’d taken his car, mine was in the shop--again, fifth time that year--and he was out of town.  So, as I loaded the back with our weekly groceries, I dug the charm out and slipped it over the rearview mirror for him to find later.

The car parked in front of me pulled out, revealing an all-too-familiar pink VW bug parked the next row over.  Usagi was setting some shopping bags in the back, from the department store across the lot.  I watched as she blushed and tucked a lock of her bleached hair behind one ear.  I watched as Mamoru reached forward and untucked it, running the strands through his fingers as he stared at her lips.  

They kissed as my heart shattered.  It would be days before I thought about the rose again.  

We finish with the car just in time for Jed to hop in and drive it around to the front of the chapel.  Nathan stands with me at the corner, watching the crowd as Usagi takes her place on the top step.  Most of the bridesmaids and many of the wedding guests crowd before her, laughingly jostling for position as they wait for her to throw the bouquet.  She grins as she scans the crowd, then pauses.

“Where’s Rei?”

Mamoru finds me first, his dark brows rising as he takes in the state of my dress.  Usagi put all the maids in pink, which isn’t my colour and doesn’t do a thing to hide the sopping mess down my front.

“Oh!” Usagi claps a hand to her lips.  “What happened?”

“Nothing to worry about,” I say and flap my hand at her, hoping she’ll proceed.   I refuse to let their stares get to me.

“Okay,” Usagi says, as the concern melted from her face.  Grinning again, she waves me forward.  “Come on, get in there.”

“I really don’t--”

“Come on, Rei!”  There was that pleading tone, the big blue eyes I can never resist.  Oh how I long to hate her.  Mamoru whispers something into Usagi’s ear, and then Nathan’s hand is on my back, pushing me forward with an apologetic smile.

Obviously not apologetic enough.

I square my shoulders but cannot bear to meet anyone’s eye as I claim a place at the edge of the crowd.  Usagi fixes me with another of her _looks_ and waves me further in.  Another blonde, this one natural, grabs my arm and pulls me into the thick of it.  Minako’s puffy pink lips brush against my ear as she whispers,  “Just five more minutes, you can do this.”

Taking a deep breath I nod.  Minako releases my arm and begins to bounce upon her toes as she claps and woops with the others.  Usagi turns her back to us.  “Ready?”

Minako squeals in my ear and I wince.  From the steps Usagi calls, “One...Two...Three...”

The bouquet--a full two dozen blood red roses--soars up, up up...and veer off to the right.  The group shrieks and flounders.  Someone trips and like dominos, we fall.  I know nothing but laughing, squealing women jabbing me with heels and elbows until Minako’s knee finds the small of my back.  She lofts the bouquet above her head and crows defiantly.

“Minako, get off me!”

“Oh, sorry,” she laughs and gets up, but its Ami who helps me to my feet.  Her nose crinkles, pale brown eyes flickering over the front of my dress.

Looking down, I bite back a sigh.  Mud and grass; stains that are never going to come out at this point...not that it matters, really.  I’ll never wear this dress again.  Stepping to the side, I watch as rice rains upon the happy couple.  Jed opens the door to the Mercedes and Mamoru helps Usagi into the car.    
  
Usagi’s head turns just before the door shuts and she catches my eye.  Her eyes, bright contact blue, crinkle as she smiles.  “Thank you,” she mouths at me, and blows a kiss.  The door is between us before I can figure out a response; she turns away.

Only the bridal party stays to clean up.  Zakiya and Ami immediately claim the kitchen,  Nathan and Jed carry out what few flower arrangements hadn’t been taken by guests, and Minako puts herself in charge of the rest of the decorations.  I make my way back to the choir room to pack up the wedding dress, makeup, and whatever else we brought with us.  This day has lasted centuries; I can barely remember this morning.

When I round the corner into the choir room, the dress is the first thing I see--white as freshly fallen snow and glistening with a thousand pearlescent beads.  They left it hanging from the back of the choir bleachers sans protective wrapping.

The urge comes on so strong, so sudden that I’m across the room before I realize I’m moving.  For a moment I pause, gently caressing over the front of the dress, feeling the lace and beadwork beneath my fingers.  With a single deft jerk I rip the dress from its hanger.  The straps snap, beads go flying.  

I wad it into a ball and find the plastic it should have been put in.  Thank you?   _Thank you_ ?!  How fucking _dare_ she?  How dare she do any of this?!  The pure injustice of the past few months spills through me as I cram the dress into the bag.  I punch it, then again and again.  

Hands grab at my shoulders, pulling me away from the dress.  My throat is raw, my face wet, as I realize I had been screaming.  Jed stares down at me, something akin to pity written across his face.  “Rei,” he begins, but I jerk myself from his grip.

I’ve always been good at running in heels, and today is no different.  Pausing only long enough to grab my keys and purse, my car eats a pathway into the gravel drive as I flee.

* * *

 

By Monday, three days after the wedding, I’ve blown my budget on a hotel room in San Francisco and am forced to return my grandfather’s place.  He doesn’t ask where I was all weekend or why I’m not at work.  Instead, he makes tea and ramen, and we eat dinner in silence.  

When I finally turn on my phone there’s seventy missed calls, and half again as many texts.  Most of them are split between Jed and Minako, but two are from Mamoru and one from Usagi.  I debate listening to the messages, then turn the phone back off.  

I could pay to have the dress fixed and dry-cleaned, and if I want to keep my friends I probably should.  But I don’t know anymore if I do want that.  Instead, I take a shower and fall into bed.  Sleep comes fitful and dreamless.

The next day I get up and go to work like the adult I assure myself I am.  My car is gurgly and shaking after the drive down California, and it takes half an hour longer than usual to make it to the office.  By the time I park, I’m already irritated.  

A crack jolts through me as I step out of my car.  I grind my teeth, glowering down at the pumps that had been brand new and are now trash.

Carrying my shoes in one hand, briefcase in the other, I make it past security and to the elevator without further incident.  A few of my fellow Hiroshi Enterprises employees cast sidelong looks at me through the mirrored doors; I pretend not to notice.  They exit on the fifth, the sixth, the twelfth, the fifteenth...by the thirtieth I’m the only one left.  The executive lobby is quiet as I enter, and blissfully empty.

My office is on the corner, directly opposite my father’s.  His door is closed, the lights off, but I can smell the Starbucks and bagel his assistant picked up for him.  I get in my door, close and lock it before I notice the smell is stronger inside.

“Peppermint mocha is still your favorite, right?”

“Goddamnit, Jed,” I mutter and stomp toward my desk.  The shoes go in the garbage and my briefcase on the chair.  He’s sitting in the armchair on the visitor’s side of the gargantuan mahogany desk my father bought me when I made vice president, watching me with those thoughtful blue eyes.

“I know this is hard for you,” he begins.

“You know jack shit,” I snap.  The coffee and bagel are set just in front of my keyboard, on top of the planner my assistant leaves for me every morning.  Peppermint wafts through the air, only slightly more tempting than the cream-cheese laden “everything” bagel beside it.  He even put it on a plate with a proper fork, just as I like it.  Despite myself, my stomach rumbles as I collapse gracelessly into the padded leather seat.  

Jed watches me with an even expression, then reaches for his own coffee.  I’d hardly noticed it, but he’s got his own breakfast laid out on a paper napkin: no fork, plain bagel with cheese.  “I thought we could talk,” he said slowly.  “Since you’re ignoring everyone’s calls.”

“Usually, when someone does that it means they don’t want to talk.”  

“And when someone destroys their best friend’s wedding dress, it usually means they need to.”  

Sitting a little straighter, I look to the side, at my computer, at the morning light slowly inching across the carpet.  Anywhere but him.  “I’ll have the dress fixed,” I say and knot my fingers together in my lap, where he can’t see them.  “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to go that far, and I’m sorry for it.  But I don’t need this.”

He’s quiet a moment, and from the corner of my eye I watch as he picks up the bagel and chews a bite.  There’s some noise in the hallway--my father coming in, opening his door.  Jed glances at the window to the side of my office door, then sighs and gets up.  “Don’t worry about it, it’s taken care of.”

“Jed.”  I scoff slightly, unable to help myself.  “You can’t do that.  I know how little you ma--”

“It’s done.”  He cuts me off with a look that tells me I’ve gone too far, and collects his breakfast.  His voice takes a softer tone that makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat as he says,  “What they did to you...it wasn’t okay.   I won’t say they were wrong, per se, but they should have gone about it a hell of a lot better than they did.  But that doesn’t make _this_ right.”

He’s right.  I know he’s right.  I spent all weekend telling myself the same thing.  That doesn’t make me like it any more.  “Thank you, Dr. Phil.  Don’t you have an acerbic old man to take care of?”

“Had to take care of the acerbic daughter, first,” he replies with a shit-eating grin.  Lofting his coffee, he taps it with one finger.  “Breakfast of champions.  Drink yours before it’s cold.”  With that, Jed lets himself out of my office and kicks the door closed behind him.  I put my face in my hands and swallow a scream.

Only when I have myself under control again do I grab my coffee and draw a scorching mouthful.  Peppermint invades my sinuses, clearing my head both literally and figuratively.  I remind myself to buy Jed lunch at some point in the near future, and tuck into the bagel.

* * *

 

Minako and I do lunch every Wednesday at a small cafe just a few blocks from our offices.  She’s been working as a layout designer and occasional columnist for Fashionelle--a small time gossip rag--these past two years and always shows up “late” for one reason or another.  Today is no different; she swans in dressed to the nines and simmering at exactly twelve-thirty-seven.  

Without pausing to look, she heads straight to our usual table, plops down, and stares at the water and salad I already ordered for her.  “How did you know?”  
  
“You never get anything else.”

“Yes I do.”

“No.”  I sip my water.  “You dicker over the menu for fifteen minutes, grill the waitress on half of it, and always settle on the caesar, no dressing, no croutons, no cheese, extra oil.”

“I had a sandwich once.”

“Two years ago.”

She tosses her sunglasses on the table and drops her purse into the chair beside her. I wait for her to explode over whatever it is that’s bothering her, but she picks up a fork and stabs her salad instead. Having lived together for four years during college, Minako and I are well used to being silent in one another’s company.  It’s comfortable and easy, even with the cloud of both our moods lingering over head, so for a while I allow it to continue.

We were put together by chance back at school; a prospect that hadn’t begun on good graces.  Minako is my opposite in every conceivable way.  She’s overwhelmingly vivacious, I’m more often described as ‘antisocial.’  Where she enjoys glitter and butterflies and pop music, I prefer deep jewel tones and crows and jazz.  We both keep our hair long, with our bangs cut just over our brows, but where her hair is the colour of sunshine on wheat, mine is black as a raven’s wing.  She majored in journalism.  I majored in accounting.

Somewhere between our freshman encounters with midterms and finals we stopped hating each other.  Sometime after that we became friends.  It’s been so long, now, that I can no longer point to the specific moment when I realized she was going to stick around the rest of my life, but I am as certain of it as I am of air.

A sick lurch rocks my stomach as I realize I would have said the same of Mamoru only a few months ago.

“I met someone,” Minako says to her half-empty plate.  She raises her eyes to mine, staring at me through her lashes and bites her lip as she always does when she’s worried about what I’m going to say.

The words don’t register for a long moment.  I stare at her, uncomprehending, and slowly her eyes lower back to her food.  She shrugs.  “He’s an editor for the Herald.  I ran into him the other day while running a lead down and we...I don’t know, he just seems nice.”

I shake my head as the world starts to right itself.  “But, Nathan?”

Those guilty eyes flicker back to me, and she purses her lips.  Hastily she shrugs and shakes her head, grinning half-heartedly.  “Well I didn’t _do_ anything, it was only coffee!”

“You went out with him.”

“Yeah--sort of--I mean, not _really_.  It didn’t start that way...” She flails with her hands, then sits up straight and stares out the window.  “Look, I know you have your issues with this, and I haven’t wanted to say anything, but I really need a friend right now and I don’t know where else--”

“Mina,” I say, reaching out to take her hands.  There’s still a coldness deep within me, but I can’t tolerate seeing her like this.  Her eyes are wet when she meets mine again, and I squeeze her hands.  “You’re not happy, are you?  With Nathan.”

“I don’t know,” she whispers, and takes one hand from mine to dab at her eyes before her makeup is ruined.  “Things just...they haven’t been OK for a while now.”

“Have you talked with him?” I frown.  Minako and Nathan have been together for five years, since around our senior year of college.  We always joked that we’d have a double wedding some day, her and Nathan, me and Mamoru.  I’d noticed a few months back that she’d been speaking less and less of Nathan, that they were barely looking at one another at the wedding, but I’d been so consumed with myself that I hadn’t realized it was this bad.  

Some friend I am.

“No.”  Minako shakes herself and pulls her hands away.  She stabs a bit of chicken with her fork, and stares at it.  “Even if I knew what to say, he never has time for me anymore.  It’s always ‘I have a deadline,’ ‘I have a work party,’ ‘the guys and I are going for drinks--you know how important my downtime is.’”

What can I say?  My brain wracks for objectivity, to understand the problem from her perspective.  It isn’t that difficult, but I can’t help wondering if Nathan would see it that way.  If he even knows what he’s doing to her.  The words “talk to him” stick in my throat, so I just nod sympathetically and pay the bill for both of us.    
  
By the time we’re outside, arms linked and heading toward the fork that will split us in our respective paths, I can find my way to asking, “So...what’s his name?”

* * *

 

“This place is awfully big,” Ami says, staring at the sixteen-foot ceiling in what my realtor calls “the great room.”  I nod, peering around a naked doorway into the granite-countered kitchen.  Far too big for a single person, I think, and way too modern for my tastes.  Mamoru would have loved it.

Yet another swing and miss from the realtor my father suggested.  She seems to realize this, for I catch her wincing before she sees me looking.

“The bathrooms are divine, however. You just have to see them.” She gestures to the hall and I follow her back to the master bedroom.

It’s large enough to play racquetball, and the bathroom is covered in mirrored, gunmetal tile. Shaking my head, I back out again.  “I don’t think it’s what I’m looking for.”

“Alright,” the realtor says, and I can hear the dejection in her voice no matter her smile.  “There is one more we could try...?”  
  
Ami nods when I glance at her, and I agree.  Back in my car, Ami whips out her phone and plugs the address of the next house into the GPS, in case we lose the realtor in traffic.  She sneaks a peek with Google satellite and hums.  “This one looks interesting.”   
  
I glance over, but I can’t see anything before I have to look back at the road.  “Better than the last?”   
  
“Much.”  The phone tells me to turn left at the light; I put us behind the realtor’s volkswagen and wait my turn.  “Rei...can I ask...”

“Yes?”  
  
“Why a house?”

Grandfather had asked me much the same, and it’s still difficult to answer.  Ami is patient as always, even when it’s five minutes later and I’m still trying to suss it out.  She just watches the traffic out the window, the late afternoon sun over the LA sprawl, and smiles softly to herself.  “It’s good being home, huh?”

She startles and then laughs, with a nod.  “Connecticut was nice.  You’d have loved it in the fall, with the oranges and reds everywhere.  It isn’t Boston, perhaps, but it is beautiful.  It was just...”

Ami plucks at the hem of her floral print skirt, her nails still long from the wedding but coated in fresh blue polish where they had been pink.  She looks better in pink than I do, but I doubt she appreciated the colour choice any more.  “Lonely,” she says after a moment.  

It’s hard to know what to say to that.  Ami and I had grown up together; I can still remember, albeit vaguely, curling up together on our nap-time mats at daycare.  We began our schooling at St. Catherine’s together, and even when we were split into separate classes we’d walked home together every day from first grade through twelfth.

Mamoru had moved into the neighborhood when he was eleven and we were ten.  The three of us were fast friends, rapidly becoming what our parents labeled the “three musketeers” and what we would later refer to as a Japanese-American reenactment of _Boy Meets World..._ If Shawn and Cory had dated while Topanga tried to pretend she wasn’t staring up the skirts of the cheerleader pyramid during pep rallies.

When it came time for college applications we’d made a pact to submit to the same schools and attend whichever we were all accepted to.  That meant applying to Ami’s top choice as well: Yale.  She got in.  Mamoru and I did not.  

Her parents found out, of course, and once they did they refused to pay for any other school.  Ami had been prepared to pay for schooling herself, no matter how it might have cost her, but Mamoru and I stepped in to talk her out of it.  Yale wasn’t an opportunity to pass up.  

She’d returned for good three months ago, after completing her master’s.  In another week, she’d begin work on her doctorate.  Her parents were still annoyed that it wouldn’t be from Yale, but Ami had landed a full scholarship so their objections went unnoted.

I take a deep breath and say the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m used to a house.”  A laugh bursts from my lips, soft and bitter.  “I suppose that’s kind of...spoiled? of me.”

Ami shrugs and shakes her head.  “I didn’t mean anything like that,” she clarifies, “You have the means, and I can’t say I blame you.  It’s just a lot of work and commitment for...”

“One person.”  Wetting my lips, I nod.  “I just don’t like apartments.  Too noisy, too crowded, too many regulations.”

“Are you going to throw parties?” Ami’s smile hides a laugh.

“Sleepovers.”  I nod, schooling my expression to utter seriousness. “With karaoke and pillow fights and bouncing on the furniture.”

She does laugh at that, and I can’t help but think back on some of the ones we had all the way into college, when her school let out a week earlier than mine and she’d crash illicitly with me and Minako before returning to her mother’s place.  Years worth of popcorn-fights and tear-jerker movies, makeovers, school work, and gossip swim before my eyes.  I almost miss the brake lights flashing in front of me.

“Rei!”

I slam on my breaks and the car skids to a stop just a hair’s breath from the realtor’s back bumper.  The SUV behind me isn’t so fortunate.

It takes four hours for the collision to be responded to, documented, and cleared.  I stand on the side of the road watching as my poor car is hauled away, both ends crumpled and leaking.  The woman who hit us was surprisingly kind about the situation, but for once in my life I have no idea what to say.  Ami takes care of it, in her clear, no-nonsense way; she returns to my side with the woman’s phone number, name, and insurance information jotted safely in the notebook she takes everywhere.  

The realtor had apologized profusely, but it wasn’t her fault, either.  She left as soon as the cops would let her, saying she’d call to reschedule the look-see.  I scrub my face with one hand, not caring about the makeup I must be smearing.

“Come on,” Ami says and takes my arm.  She leads me toward a nearby off-ramp.  “Zakiya said she’d pick us up at the diner on the corner here.”

“My car is totaled, isn’t it?”  

She makes a face, then nods slowly.  “Most likely.”

I sigh heavily.  It hadn’t been a wonderful car. It was a piece of shit, really.  But it had been mine, and I’d been attached to it.  

We make it to the light in time for a walk signal, then cross into the parking lot of a Denny’s.  Rather than wait on Zakiya outside, we get a booth by the front windows and order coffee.  

Immediately, Ami whips out her phone and shoots off a text, her thumbs flying like mad over the keyboard.  She and Minako are amazing at that; I’ve never fully understood how.  “Letting her know where we are,” she says when she realizes I’m watching.  

I nod, and after the waitress delivers our coffee I ask, “Are you sure you’re OK?”

“I’m fine.”  Ami reaches over to grip my hand emphatically.  She offers me a tight smile, worry crinkling at the corners of her eyes.  “I’m more worried about you.”

“I have insurance,” I say, more to reassure myself than her.  

Ami stares at me a minute longer.  She nods, and releases my hand.  “Alright.  Let me know if you need any help at all.”

I offer her a smile and she purposely changes the topic to more innocuous things: my grandfather’s health (he’s fine), business (could be better, could be worse), Minako and Jed’s upcoming birthday party.  Zakiya turns up during the latter subject.  She plops down next to Ami and plants a wet smack on Ami’s cheek.  Ami turns bright red and ducks her head bashfully, but I can still see her grin.

Even though it’s Saturday, Zakiya still wears a sharp gray business suit with a pale pink button up and her strawberry tangle of hair pulled into a high-set bun.  She must have come from the office, which isn’t too far from here.  Briefly, I wonder if they’re still working on the condominium she and Mamoru had started just a few months ago.  

She dabs pink lipgloss from Ami’s cheek with her thumb, and winks at me.  “Heard you ladies needed a knight in shining Benz.”

They dropped me at my grandfather’s an hour later as the sunset began to fade.  Though they’d invited me to tag along on what was meant to be a dinner date, I bowed out as gracefully as I could.  I know myself well enough to be sure I won’t be the best company right now, and less so as a third wheel.

* * *

 

 

No sooner does the front door close behind me does my phone buzz a text message.  I fumble through my purse to find it as I drop onto a barstool in the kitchen.  

[Dinner?]

Jed must be psychic.  I sigh as my grandfather toddles in from the living room.  “I didn’t hear your car come up.”

“I got into a accident,” I respond, automatically shifting into Japanese as I always do in this house.  While Grandfather speaks English--a skill hard won at sixty-five, when he immigrated to care for his dying daughter--he still prefers his native tongue under his own roof.

“I’m fine,” I continue, hands raised defensively as he turns sharply from the tea kettle he’d been reaching for.  “It was hardly more than a fender bender.  My car took all the damage.”

Slowly, Grandfather nods and his thick, white brows knot together.  He goes to the sink and fills the kettle.  Fifteen minutes and we have tea; kukicha for him, and a strong spearmint for me. He leans his elbows on the opposite counter as he sips the heady brew.  “Perhaps,” Grandfather says after awhile, “You should wait on the house.”

“And live in your back room forever?” I laugh; he doesn’t.  Immediately, I sober.  “Grandfather...that’s kind of you, and I’m grateful, but I’m a grown woman...”

“You are still my granddaughter, no matter your age.”  He places his mug, a plain white thing that he enjoys for its simplicity, upon the counter and folds his hands together.  “Is it so bad a thing to live with family who love you?  You are not a parasite, Rei, and...”

Pursing his lips, Grandfather pauses the way he does when he isn’t sure how to phrase something he knows I don’t want to hear.  Usually I wait to hear him out, regardless.  Today, I jump as though remembering something and snatch my phone off the counter.  “Jed,” I explain hastily.  “He wanted to meet me for dinner.  I’m sorry, I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“Of course,” he replies knowingly.  My stomach clenches as I grab my purse from the counter and head out the door.  

Rather than hang outside the door waiting on Jed, I walk down to the neighborhood park where Ami, Mamoru and I played as children.  There’s no one there this time of night, and I sink into an old leather swing as I punch number six on speed dial.

“And here I thought you were ignoring me again,” Jed says by way of greeting.

“I’d just gotten home,” I reply, pushing my swing gently to and fro with one toe.  “Grandfather wanted to talk.”

“Ah.”  The single note is muffled and I can hear fabric shuffling in the background.  “This late?  I guess you found something…?”

“Yeah.  The back end of my realtor’s SUV.”  A strangled noise emits from the receiver.  It takes a moment to place it, then my eyes narrow.  “Do not laugh at me, Jebediah.” 

“Oh come on!”  He chortles.  “You know I can’t handle your deadpan.” 

“You can’t even see my face, idiot.” 

“I can imagine.”  Jed clears his throat three times before the giggles subside.  “How bad?” 

“Totaled,” I sigh.  “Some girl rear-ended me into the back of her.” 

This time he hisses.  “Ouch.  I know what you need, then.  Can I pick you up?” 

“What do I need?” 

“I’m picking you up,” he decides.  “How long do you need to get ready?” 

Swallowing my annoyance, I look down at myself and realize I desperately need a change.  There’s various kinds of black gunk on my hands that’s long since transferred to my clothing, my boots are scuffed, my hair blown into knots from sitting in the back of Zakiya’s convertible, and my nails are chipped.  I’m sure my makeup is all but ruined, too, but somehow I can’t bring myself to care.  “I don’t.  Just nowhere remotely fancy, please.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.  Give me ten, OK?”

“Sure.  Um, you know where the park is, right?” 

“A block from your granddad’s?”

“Yes.”

* * *

 

He says nothing about my appearance, and takes me to a toilet of a karaoke bar in chinatown.  It’s smoky and loud and the singers suck, but the beer and food are fantastic.  We bunker down at a booth in the back corner, well off the speakers’ path, and sit close on the same side so we can hear each other talk.  

“I can’t believe you’ve never taken me here before,” I say after we’ve decimated an onion flower and a basket of chili fries between us. 

“Take you to a dive bar?”  Jed laughs.  “Until today I wouldn’t have thought you the type.  Gotta say, though...motor oil suits you.” 

He rubs his thumb across what I assume is a spot on my cheek and I roll my eyes at him.  “Idiot,” I say into my beer. 

“You started without us!” Minako fake-pouts as she slides into opposite side of the booth.  

“Sorry, sis, the lady has an appetite.”  Jed laughs and protects his sides with one arm from my prying fingers.   I swat his arm instead, then look up in surprise to see a man who is decidedly not Nathan sitting across from me. 

“Rei, Jed, this is Shin Kanesaka,” Minako is saying as she tucks her purse between herself and the wall.  She looks up in time to point to each of us as she says to Shin, “This is my brother, Jed, and my best friend Rei Hino.  They both work for--” 

“Hiroshi Enterprises,”  he says with her, giving both of us nods before settling his gaze on me.  “I’m aware.  You’re Hino Hiroshi’s granddaughter, are you not?” 

Before I can answer Minako has her arms crossed and has gently punched his shoulder for attention.  “Oooooh no.  You are not going all reporter on me.  This is a fun night, not a work night.” 

Shin rubs his arm, though I doubt there’s any way Minako’s tiny little self has managed to hurt this giant of a man, and gives her a bashful smile.  “Sorry, it’s habit.” 

He isn’t at all what I expected.  Though I hadn’t gotten a good look at him before he’d sat down, from his size I would expect him to stand close to six-foot.  Even through his simple linen button up and leather jacket I can tell he’s well muscled.  Between that, his short ponytail, and a nose that’s been miss-set a few times he seems more like a stuntman than a journalist. 

“You’re right, though,” I offer, fingering my beer mug.  “Have we met before...?”  
  
“I don’t believe so, no.”  Shin shook his head.  “I covered your company’s takeover of Pei Ming’s restaurants a few years ago, but that was your...Uncle, I believe.”   
  
“Ah.”  

“Sooooo,” Jed drawls loudly and scoots toward the end of the booth.  “I think we need a fresh round.” 

We’re three rounds in--all but Shin, who politely refused--and I no longer care that Minako is hanging off her not-boyfriend’s arm, or about my car, or houses, and especially not about stupid, ugly mirror ornaments.  Minako shoves Shin out of the way and drags me to the stage.  The rest of the night is a blur of music, dancing, fried foods and alcohol.   

* * *

 

 

I wake cotton mouthed, throat sore, head pounding, strewn across eggshell bed sheets that don’t belong to me.  They’re not Minako’s either; she only sleeps on yellow silk.   

For a moment I’m in too much pain to care, and I worm my way to my knees before I realize I’m stripped to my underwear.  The rest of my clothes are nowhere in sight.

I wrap the sheets around me and tiptoe to the cracked-open bedroom door.  Wincing at the light pouring through the living room windows, I squint until I can see again and recognize the LA sprawl glistening in noon sunlight.  Just as easily I can see my clothes tossed around the living room and a person on the couch, bundled into what must be the bed’s comforter.  

Tugging the sheets tighter about my person, I make my way across the room to pull the curtains mostly across the windows.  Only after that do I squat by the bundle of bedclothes and peel back a layer until Jed groans at me.  He turns his face further into the pillow he’d confiscated from his bed.  

Relief washes through me.  I drop the comforter back over his face with a whispered “sorry.”

A quick dig through his medicine cabinet provides some pain killers.  I help myself as I change into yesterday's clothes and force my hair into a knot at the back of my head.  Trying not to feel like a complete frump-fest--and failing miserably, I might add--I leave the bottle of meds and a glass of water for him on the coffee table and head outside.

Though I’ve never been to Jed’s place before I’m familiar enough with LA to _know_ there has to be a coffee shop somewhere nearby.  I’m not disappointed.  One cheap rat-hole of a donut palace later I re-enter his building via an unconcerned neighbor holding the front door open, and let myself back into his place.  By that point the couch is empty and the shower running.

Falling onto the couch, I open the bag and eat three donut holes before the faucet grates to a halt.  In that time I’ve visually examined every inch of the tiny living room-slash-kitchen of Jed’s apartment.  Not that there’s much to see: an IKEA couch, coffee table, tv stand and bookshelf, a half-dead plant in the corner, and the sparse, box-like kitchen end of the room the likes of which Mamoru loves to complain about in lower-income housing.  The windows open onto a tiny balcony littered with cigarette butts, and a single family portrait hangs on the wall featuring Jed, Minako, their mother and step-dad.

Jed comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and starts.  “Jesus!”

“Mm, no?”

“Ha. Ha.”  He swipes a hand through his wet, water-darkened hair.  “You scared the piss out of me.  I thought you left.”

I gesture toward the extra coffee cup and the donuts.  “Breakfast of champions.  Though grease really goes better with hangovers.”

He softens immediately and swipes the second cup as he passes.  He has to hike the towel up again as he goes through the bedroom door, cursing faintly.  I stare after him a moment; I’d never noticed how great an ass he has.

“Need me to leave?”

“Nah,” he grunts after a minute.  I hear him stumble and another curse.  When he returns he’s in a plain tee with old stains and a pair of ripped jeans I recognize from college.  He flops onto the couch beside me and tosses his arm over his eyes.  “Waiting on the meds.”  
  
I hum in response and lean against him as I close my eyes in kind.  After a minute he shifts, taking his arm from his eyes, and his chin gently meets my head.  He murmurs, “Shower’s free if you want.  Got a shirt you can borrow.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”  Jed chuckles as I get up.  “Third drawer down, whatever’s in there’s fine.”

I pluck a shirt at random from the dresser in his bedroom and head for the shower.  It’s a relief to be clean, even if my hair is still tangled and I’m wearing yesterday’s underthings.  By the time I get out there’s sausage sizzling in the kitchen.

* * *

 

Monday morning is spent haggling with my insurance and picking up a rental before I can go into work.  As expected, my car is dead.  Somehow that doesn’t seem as overwhelming as before; there’s something about getting tossed and singing your guts out that just drives all the stress away.  Obviously, I need to listen to Jed more often...not that I’ll be admitting to that.  Ever.

I’m still humming come three when Jed appears in my doorway.  He knocks, but it’s a formality as he’s already crossing the room to lean on the corner of my desk.  “I really hate to ask this...”

Leaning back in my chair, I study his face and begin to steel myself.  Already I can feel my good mood slipping away; he looks far too serious.  “What’s the matter?”

“I was supposed to pick up Mamoru and Usagi from the airport,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  “But they surprised us with an early department meeting your--Mr. Hino says is mandatory.  I can’t raise anyone else on the phone and Ami doesn’t have a car, so...”

They could always take a cab, the back of my mind supplies with some annoyance.  But I owe Jed, at least.  As badly as I...try...to feel about the dress, most of me still thinks of it as putting Usagi and myself on even terms again.  How much leniency do you get for having an affair with your best friend’s boyfriend, exactly?

Of course, he’s _her_ husband now.

“Stay here,” I say and cross the hall to my father’s office at a clip.  I close the door and lock it on Jed’s protests; my father doesn’t even look up.

We look nothing alike, or so everyone in the family says.  Father is a pudgy, balding man in his late fifties in constant need of gold-rimmed bifocals.  His nose is squat and bulbous, a wisp of a moustache beneath it, and his cheeks are slack.  Someone once described him as looking like an angry pug, and I often think they could not be more right.  When he finally acknowledges my presence he takes his glasses off and gesticulates with them toward a chair.  

I cross my arms.  “An emergency meeting?  Why was I not informed.”

“It’s the marketing department, Rei, we don’t need your permission.”  
  
“And precisely what emergency must you deal with?  If we’re having problems with a campaign that usually results in overtime, and accounting does need to be informed.”

“All involved are salary workers, I assure you.”  He gives me a smile and returns to the papers he’d been reading.

“Jed isn’t.”

“Are you arguing against my giving your friend more hours?”  Father scoffs, and takes his glasses off once again to rub at the bridge of his nose.  “Or is it that he was going to pick up Banks and that harlot?”

“So that _is_ what this is about.”  Shaking my head, I catch myself rubbing my nose in kind and immediately drop my hand down again.  “Please stop.  You have no right--”

“Young lady, may I remind you that I am still your superior here, father or not.”  He folds his hands together now, both eyebrows raised as he gazes coolly at me.  “I will run my department as I see fit.  Now, please inform Mr. Cooper that if he has any interest in continuing to work here, he will not go hiding behind your skirts again.  Is that clear?”

Jed stays in my office only long enough to give me their flight information, and leaves as I’m packing up.  In another few minutes I’m in my rental headed for LAX.

* * *

 

Mamoru’s parents are Reginald and Janet Banks, a wealthy pair of bootstrappers who adopted Mamoru out of Japan when he was eleven and they were in their sixties.  Neither of them have licenses anymore, thanks to failing eyesight on Janet’s part, and a rapidly setting case of alzheimer's on Reginald’s.  Between their situation, the Tsukino’s--Usagi’s parents--living in New Hampshire, and the usually wonderful fact that as a VP I have some ability to set my own hours, I can see why I was Jed’s best choice.  

That doesn’t make me any more happy about it.    
  
I stand at the windows in the pickup area, periodically checking my watch for over an hour.  Their flight was delayed, of course, and the arrival times keep changing.  4:20, 4, 4:50, 5:10...

The ticker changes to “arrived” just as a high-pitched squeal erupts from the deboarding terminal.  Usagi’s arms are about my neck a second later, and I’m awash in a cloying, floral perfume.  On instinct I return the hug, and with my face hidden by Usagi’s hair I don’t think anyone saw me wince.

“Rei!  Oh my gosh, it was so gorgeous,” she babbles into my ear before finally letting go.  “You have got to go sometime!  There were flowers, and the water, and the sun...”

The first thing I notice is the sunburn across her nose as she pulls away.  Between that and her ever-present pigtails I can’t help but think, for the millionth time, how childish she looks and sounds.  For the first time, however, it doesn’t send my gut rolling.  At least, not so badly I might _actually_ throw up.

“Rei,” Mamoru says as he comes up behind his wife, baggage cart in hand.  They have a few suitcases, two of which look brand new, and I can only imagine the shopping hell he must have been in.  “I...didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Jed had a meeting,” I explain with as nonchalant a shrug as I can manage.  “How was the flight?” 

“Smooth,” he says, and I try to pretend I don’t notice the slight slump of his shoulders or the way he briefly smiles as though maybe his gut is rolling as badly as mine.  After all, why should he care that it’s me here and not Jed?   

Usagi glances between us and then grabs my hand to lead me toward the garage exit.  When I follow, obedient as a pet dog, she slides her arm about mine and begins to pontificate about the virtues of Hawaii.  Mamoru follows, silent until I hit the remote access for the rental; it's lights flare as it honks hello. 

“Where’s your car?”

“Gone,” I sigh as I open the trunk.  He loads the suitcases while giving me a very familiar, there-must-be-more-to-that look.  “I got into an accident Saturday.”

“Oh no!”  Usagi claps her hands to her mouth.  “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, no one was hurt.  Except...”  I gesture to the car and Mamoru nods as he closes the trunk.

“You needed to get rid of it, anyway.  How many times has that thing been in the shop?”

“It was a good car.”  Trying not to scowl, I take the driver’s seat as he helps Usagi into the back, then takes the passenger seat.  

“When your mother had it, maybe, but it’s...how old now?”  He knows exactly how old that car was, and the arch of his brow just irritates me.  I pull out a little faster than strictly advisable, and get us on the road.  The less time this takes the better.  

“There was no point in getting rid of something which still worked.”

“Rei.”  
  
“Mamoru,” I reply in the same, infuriatingly condescending tone.  We share a glare before I have to put my eyes back  upon the road.

“Is this your new car,” Usagi asks into the awkwardness.  

“It’s a rental.”

“Oh.”  Three beats later, she continues, “It looks like you.  Like the sort of thing you would drive, I mean.”

“Thank you,” I say, for lack of anything better.  Mamoru turns on the radio.

We pull up to the house an hour later and a sensation not unlike vertigo slaps me in the face.  The house looks exactly like I remember it: floor-to-ceiling windows compose the front wall, casting light through the living room and allowing you to see the hall that leads to the kitchen, the stair to the loft, the atrium at the center with its carefully pruned cherry tree and small, babbling brook beneath the bows.  Mamoru and I put the atrium in ourselves, just the pair of us.  It’d taken a year to complete, but it’d been worth it.

“Would you like to come in?” Usagi’s hands are on my shoulders, her voice soft  as she watches me from around the seat.  Mamoru is already out, hauling their bags from the trunk.

I shake my head and offer her the slightest smile.  “I, ah, have to get back to work.  Thanks, though.”

“Okay.”  She squeezes my shoulders and murmurs “ _Arigato gozaimashita, Rei-chan_ ,” before getting out to help her husband with their luggage.  They wave from the front step.  I gather my wits and return to the office.  

The ability to set my own hours comes at a price, of course: the need to get my work done, no matter how late I have to stay to compensate.

* * *

 

It’s just a bit after midnight when I’m coming in the front door, yawning but satisfied that the books are in order and the statements approved for tomorrow morning, and I notice the living room light is still on.  “Grandpa?” 

He’s lounging in his old leather recliner, the one he refuses to let me replace, hands loose over his pot belly, eyes closed, peaceful.  He must have dozed off over the news, which is still playing on the TV.     
  
The remote’s on the end table beside him;  I flick the TV off and reach for the lamp when a faint chill passes over me.  Sinking into a crouch beside his chair, I look up at my grandfather, watching him with a growing sense of dread.  “Grandpa?”

* * *

 

 

By the time that Ami and her mother, Saeko, arrive I’d already wetted his lips, and closed Grandfather’s butsudan with some christmas wrapping paper I found in the closet, faced so that the white backside stands out.  It isn’t traditional, but it’s the best I can come up with.  

I fall onto the couch, hands over my mouth as Saeko examines him.  Ami settles next to me, one hand at my knee and the other at my back.  Saeko has been Grandfather's primary for years, fortunately, and I cannot doubt her when she looks up at me and gives a solemn, sad nod.   “I’m sorry, Rei-chan.”

A single, gut-wrenching sob escapes my throat as Ami’s arms wrap tightly about me.  Distantly I hear Saeko ask for a moment, then she steps into the hall as she calls the local coroner’s office.  Everyone in our community uses the same one, the man who handled my mother’s funeral, because he’s familiar with our customs.  

“Does he have a white kimono?” Saeko asks when she returns.  I nod, and silently lead her back to his room to search for the items he’ll need.  The funeral home will know how to display him properly, and for that I am thankful.  The kimono is easy; we find the white one he’ll be buried with, and his favorite blue and green one for the wake.  I pull six coins from the jar in his nightstand--three yen and three quarters.

An emptiness fills me, lifts me up and sustains me as I search through his things for a dagger to place in his hands.  Most of what I find are mementos: old photo books, letters, postcards, a baker’s dozen boxes worth of memories shoved into a back storage closet.  Finally, I come up with a long forgotten dagger, barely a few inches long and hardly worth the title; the same one used for my mother.  

Wiping tears from my cheeks I return to where we’ve laid him out, still in his favorite recliner tipped back to a nearly flat state, and firmly press his death-stiffened fingers around the dagger’s hilt.

I expect Saeko to leave, but she doesn’t.  We congregate in the kitchen over steaming cups of tea as she patiently walks me through the next few days.  They’ll finish the preparations for his wake, which could be held at the parlor or here, at his home.  If the latter, I’ll need to clear out the living room for space.  Then he’ll be cremated, and do I know if he wanted the ashes scattered or kept?

“He should be with mother,” I say thickly, though I wonder how well that will be received by father.  Rather than argue about it, Grandfather had allowed father to keep her urn though it should have gone to the butsudan--not a fireplace mantle.  Mantle or shrine, Grandfather deserves to be with his only child in their passing.  Father will just have to deal.  

Saeko and Ami both nod, and Ami scratches another note in her journal.  Bless her.

“I don’t mean to keep you up,” I say after a moment.  Saeko squeezes my hand.  “We’re not going to leave you like this unless you want us to.”

They both wait, patiently, until I shake my head.  Blinking rapidly to clear away a sudden urge to cry, I draw in a shaky breath and try for a smile.  “I’ll be fine.  I know you have work in the morning, Mrs. Mizuno.”

“It’s OK, momma, I’ll--,” Ami says just as the coroner raps at the door.

Two bulky, impersonal men invade my home with a stretcher.  They load my grandfather into a hearse as I watch from the stoop, Ami’s hand tightly clutching mine.

Saeko leaves only after wrapping me in a tight embrace and whispering that she and her husband are there if I need them.  Then she heads down the street to their house at the end of the block.  Ami pulls me inside and we spend the rest of the night sitting side by side on my bed, mindlessly watching cartoon reruns and pretending nothing is wrong.

* * *

  
The next day is a fog of business meetings, funeral arrangements, and phone calls.  As it turned out, Grandfather had already made some plans himself, outlining his wishes and leaving a fund for them to be carried out.   

Tuesday evening, Nathan and Jed kindly help me to pull apart the living room, shoving the furniture to the sides of the room and boxing up Grandfather’s books and trinkets so that nothing is damaged or broken.  We set a table at the front of the room for the casket, and place black cushions, brought over from our local temple, upon the floor for the guests.  I find two matched incense urns in the attic and put one before the coffin, and the other behind the first two cushions for the rest of the guests.  

Through all of this Nathan doesn’t ask anything, but when he and Jed step out for a smoke on the stoop I overhear Jed’s explanation:  “The priest will perform a sutra--I guess that’s kind of like a sermon, you would say--while the family and guests offer incense at the urns.  When the sutra’s over, so is the wake.”

“Huh,” is all Nathan says in response.  At the kitchen counter Minako shakes her head.  

She gives me a look of exasperation, but refrains from rolling her eyes.  “Are we cooking or calling in a caterer?”

I slump against the counter, staring into what has become an ever-present cup of tea that my friends keep refilling. It’s helpful, if only for the warmth, but I try to block out the familiar scent of kukicha.  Whomever brewed this batch had grabbed the wrong box.

“Caterer,” I say, rubbing my face.  “I don’t think I have it in me to cook anything.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can find,” Ami offers as she turns to dig her phone out the bag hung off the back off the back of her chair.  When she pulls it out she’s holding a business card as well and blinking owlishly at it.

Minako absently stirs her tea with a honey laden spoon, her cheek leaning upon one fist, and sighs.  Her eyes are as red-rimmed as mine, I notice, and had been since she arrived.  I try to find the words to ask when Ami’s quiet conversation catches my ear.

“I know it’s short notice but--A funeral.  Tomorrow evening.  Nothing fancy, really, but it says you specialize in Japanese cuisine and I thought perhaps...Yes, that sounds fantastic.  Let me check and I can get back with you?  Thank you.”

Ami stands up and comes to lean on the bar with us after severing the call.  “That was fast,” I say, not particularly caring to discuss menus but knowing that I’ll have to.

“Do you remember the woman who hit us the other afternoon?”

Minako drops her spoon into her cup.  “She was a caterer?”

Setting the business card on the counter, Ami pushes it toward both of us as she says, “Makoto Kino, homestyle Japanese cuisine.  Weddings, parties, etcetera.  I’d completely forgotten about it until I found her card.  We thought that was faster than writing down each other's information.”

Hating the coincidence as much as it was fortunate, I rub one temple and ask, “She’s OK for tomorrow?”

“She said she can handle a small funeral, if we’re just wanting regular foodstuffs.  I thought that since Grandfather was never one for fancy parties...”

“That’s perfect,” I agree with a smile.  “What would I ever do without you?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d manage,” Ami replies with a warm smile and a squeeze of my hand.  She gets up and heads into the living room to make the return call.

“Sometimes she scares me with her efficiency,” Minako mutters against her fist. I swallow a dry chuckle and take a sip of the tea.  Minako picks up the card, flipping it over in one hand and frowning at it.

“What’s the matter?”  
  
“Nothing.” She looks up after a moment of my staring at her, and arches her brow in kind to mine.  “Nothing, really.  This name it’s...just familiar, is all.”

“It’s a pretty common name,” I offer.

“In Japan.”  

She drops the card as the boys come back in the front, snickering over some joke.  The stench of cigarette smoke washes over me as Nathan wraps his arms about Minako and kisses her hair.  It isn’t hard to tell that her smile is forced, her shoulders stiff, but he doesn’t seem to notice.  Instead, his eyes go to the card and his brows raise.  “Catering?”  
  
“Yeah.  I really don’t feel up to cooking.”  I turn away to open a cabinet and take out a mug for Jed;  he stops rooting through the wrong one and takes it with a sheepish grin.

“Makes sense,” Nathan says with a shrug.  “Need anything else moved?”  
  
“No, I think that’s done.  Thank  you.”  I offer him a smile and freeze; Minako is staring at Nathan with a tempestuous scowl across her lips.

“Let me guess,” she begins in an all-too-civil tone, “You’re needed at the bar?”

“No,” he drawls and slowly releases his hold on her, “I was just asking.  You know, trying to be helpful?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”  Rolling her eyes, Minako turns her glower back upon the counter.  

Beside me, Jed opens his mouth, probably about to make some kind of jackass remark, when Nathan beats him to it: “I’m sorry, are you five years old?  Cause you’re sure as fuck acting like it right now.”

Jed sucks in a breath through his teeth as Minako yelps indignantly.  “How could you even say--”

“Well if the shoe fits, Minako...”  He paused, looking pointedly down at her feet, “And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?  Remind me again, how many did you buy last week?”

Minako slid off the barstool and poked him in the chest with one manicured nail; hard enough that he winced.  “What I do with my money is none of your business, Nathaniel!”

“I’d say it’s my business when all our closets are jammed with the things. I can barely find space for my--what--two pairs?”  He backed up a few paces, but looked to Jed.  “Why don’t you ask your brother there?  I’m sure he’d agree you have a major problem.”

“Do not bring him into this!” Minako screeched.  Behind her the door to the living room opens and promptly shuts again as Ami undoubtedly caught an earful.  “Besides, how much did you spend on bar trips last week, huh?  Poker with your pals?  Those fucking disgusting cigarettes?  I cannot believe you’re bringing this up right now.”

“I’m bringing it up?”  He spread both arms, practically shouting in her face though a good foot remained between them.  “You’re the one who started it. If you can’t handle this maybe you should keep your mouth shut.”

“Maybe keeping my mouth shut is the problem here.”

Nathan lowers his arms, narrows his eyes. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Minako counters so lowly that it takes me a moment to decipher what she said.  Nathan, on the other hand, seems to get it immediately.

He shakes his head as he backs away another few paces, turns on a heel and marches out the door with hardly a pause to snatch his jacket from the coat rack.

At least he doesn’t break the door when he slams it.  

An awkward silence settles over the kitchen; trite, perhaps, but true.  Though Minako’s shoulders shake, I can’t hear it if she’s crying.  Her fists are clenched at her sides and, after what feels like a very long time indeed, she turns her head just enough to level a baleful glare at her twin.  “Where are your keys?”

“Oh hell no.”  Jed stands up from the counter he’d been leaning on and holds his hands defensively before him.  “You are out of your mind if you think I’m letting you drive like this.”

“Jebediah--” she growls as she turns about to face him.  Her eyes lock with mine, instead, and whatever she was going to say dies on her lips as her eyes go wide.  “Oh my god.  Rei, I...I am so sorry.”

I brush past Jed, barely noticing the way his fingers slide, nearly catching, over my wrist.  My purse is on the table and I swiftly dig out the keys to the rental.  Holding them out to her, I wait until she slowly opens one palm and then drop them into her hand.  “You want to leave?  Fine.  Whatever.”

Ignoring the way her eyes have gone bright, and Jed’s annoyed growl, I turn and march through the living room door. Ami is still standing there, and she glances between me and the kitchen.  I stomp down the hall to my room and close the door on the muffled sounds of another argument.

* * *

  
Though the urge to cry is strong the ability seems to have left me.  I sit on my bed for what feels like an hour as the pressure builds and wanes behind my eyes.  My phone buzzes at the bottom of my purse, half spilled on the bedroom floor.  

For a moment I debate ignoring it, and by the time I pull it out and look the call has gone to my voice mail.   Grandfather’s lawyer.  I press my lips and stare at the number.   Instead of hitting redial, I hit my speed dial and put the phone to my ear.

His voice is sleepy when he answers, but I can hear the familiar sounds of his office behind him: the Bach he likes to  play when he’s working, Zakiya babbling away, a car alarm in the distance.  “Hey.”  
  
“Grandfather’s dead,” I say, though I’d been trying for ‘hello.’  Silence greets me, followed quickly by him shushing Zakiya and the music switching off.

“Are you--No, that’s stupid. I won’t ask that.”  Mamoru sounds a little more awake now, and in my mind's eye I can see him swiping his hand through his hair so that it stands up in a disheveled, silly-looking poof.  “When...when’s the funeral?”

“Thursday.”  I swallow thickly.  “The wake is tomorrow...if you want to come.”

“Yeah, I’d--I’d like that.  Thank you.”  Another hesitation invades the airwaves before he says, “How are you doing?”

Closing my eyes, I take another slow, deep breath.  Then a second.

“Rei?”

“Could be better,” I admit, because we both know ‘yes’ would be a lie.  A laugh--somewhat hysterical, if I’m honest with myself--escapes my lips.  “Could be a lot better.  But I think I’ll live.”

“Come to the house for dinner,” Mamoru says slowly, “Bring Ami...Jed, Mina, whoever.  I promise I won’t let Usagi cook.  Just...get out of there for awhile.”

Yesterday that was an invitation to hell.  Right now it sounds like a promised land.  I nod, realize he can’t see that, then agree verbally.  He gives me a time and we hang up.  Only after I get up, wash my face, and run a brush through my hair do I return to the kitchen.

Ami had agreed to take Minako home, in lieu of the twins getting into another fight.  When I proposed Mamoru’s offer, Jed gave me a look that quite clearly asked “are you sure that’s a good idea?” but all he actually said was “If that’s what you want, I’m game.”

I probably should have showered and changed, but I’d already donned my old college gym sweats and sweater after work, and decided I didn’t give a rat’s ass if Mamoru saw me in this.  He’d seen me worse over the years--sick and puking, no less--and I was no longer competing for his affections.  Not that it’d ever really been a competition.  Not really.

After I shoved a few necessary items into my purse--License, keys, phone--we head over with no more plans than to pick up a bottle of wine on the way.  

* * *

 

 

Usagi latches around my neck the second the door is open, and I return the hug without a second thought.  The warmth is nice, no matter that I’d never thought to ask for it.   She sniffles loudly in my ear, and when she pulls back I can see her eyes are watery and as red as her nose.  Combined with the sunburn she may as well be a tomato; I feel a trifle less frumpy.  Despite this, Usagi manages to smile as she grabs my hand and tugs me into the house.

“Mamoru isn’t back yet, but he said he wouldn’t be long,” Usagi says as she collapses onto a couch, taking me down with her.  I barely hear her; my mind has screeched to a halt as I look at what used to be my living room.

From the outside, with the lights off, it had looked much the same as I’d remembered it--or had I only seen what I’d wanted to see?  

When it had been Mamoru and I living here the entire house had been done in earth tones: soft amber, deep crimson, a range of rich browns and blacks with subtle patterns for emphasis.  We’d had antique teak-wood lamps and dividers, original oil paintings on the walls, furniture so heavy it took both of us to lift a single chair.

I don’t know what they did what they did with that furniture, but this is certainly not it.  While Usagi had kept the layout much the same, the furniture was replaced by white wicker with pastel pink and yellow cushions covered in floral patterns. The floor is thick with matching persian rugs, and the curtains--undrawn, hanging in a corner--look to be little more than yards upon yards of white lace, more decorative than useful.

A few of our paintings still hang upon the walls, though; the ones that Mamoru had picked out and loved.  The rest are gone, and in their place hang hundreds of photographs.  Family members, friends...even--I try not to choke--the photo of Mamoru, Ami, and myself at our high school graduation.

The room seems a thousand times bigger than the one I remember; lighter, happier, more carefree.  Kind of like an easter egg exploded.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I say, and that terrible, uncomfortable weight--like stones in my stomach--suddenly lifts.  I actually mean it.  

A grin settles across Usagi’s face.  “Thank you! I was worried you wouldn’t.”

“No, it’s very... _you_ .”   
  
“Why does everyone say that?”  Usagi’s face screws up into put-on exasperation before she laughs.  

Jed drops into an armchair next to the couch and puts the wine on the table.  “We came bearing gifts--well, _a_ gift.”

“So did I.”  Mamoru comes in the door, arms laden with take out bags.  Jed hops up again to help.  In another few minutes we’re seated around the kitchen table--glass topped, white-painted legs with matching chairs--and passing around a range of thai dishes from my favorite little ma-and-pa shop just across from Mamoru’s office.  No one brings up my grandfather, or cars, or the wedding, or honeymoons in Hawaii, and for a few short hours life feels normal again.  

While Jed and Usagi clean the relatively small mess, I step outside for a little air and, to my surprise, Mamoru follows.  The back patio is a small affair, a little tile and some planters with a new set of wind chimes hung above.  They tinkle in a faint breeze, meshing well with the sound of laughter from inside the house.  

“Can I ask what happened?” Mamoru leans against the corner of the wall where the second story hangs slightly over the patio exit.  My back to him, I stare out across the neighborhood park their backyard opens into.  This time of night there’s no one there but crickets and cicada and a brilliant moon bathing everything in silvered light.  

I take a breath.  “Heart attack in his sleep.  Saeko says they just happen sometimes.  But it was peaceful.”

“I’m glad for that,” he replies with a heavy sigh.  “I hadn’t seen him in…”

“Since I moved out.”

Mamoru stands up, moving toward me until he turns abruptly to sit on the edge of one of his planters.  It’s a brick structure, more than adequate to hold his weight, but I’ve never seen him treat his plants with such indifference.  Slowly, he shakes his head.  “No.  He came by my office once, about a month after.”

My eyebrows shoot up.  Then I groan and close my eyes, rubbing one temple.  “Please tell me he didn’t--”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mamoru clarifies.  “Ojiisan...He wasn’t happy with me, but not like your dad.  He said it wasn’t his place to step into our affairs.”

“ _Our_ affairs?”  Immediately, Mamoru winces at his own word choice.

“I didn’t--” he begins, and stops when I start to laugh.  It wasn’t that funny...but it was. A tiny giggle builds quickly into a snickering,weezing fit that waters my eyes and jabs painfully into my sides.  And it’s infectious.  Soon, Mamoru is as far gone as I am.

I sit beside him, my butt on the tile and back against the planter.  After a second, he scoots off the planter to settle beside me.  “He wanted me to be a signer on his will,” Mamoru explains, once our laughter subsides.  “Has his lawyer contacted you yet?”

“I got a call.”  My throat convulses, threatening to close again.  Had Grandfather realized he was sick?  But--no.  No.  He was just an old man who knew he wasn’t going to last forever.  That was all.  “Is there something I should know?”

He shakes his head.  “I was just curious.  I guess ‘cause...it was the last time I saw him.  He wouldn’t come to the wedding.”

Biting my lip, I look at my hands between my upraised knees.  I can feel Mamoru’s eyes on me, and for a long minute we just sat there, breathing.  “Rei,” he says and reaches over to take one of my hands.  His skin is smooth as ever, a little chilled and for the first time I don’t imagine sparks as we make contact.  There’s nothing but solid weight, soft flesh...normal human contact.  I’m still grateful for the touch, but it’s not as comforting as it once had been--or at least, not in the same way.  “I’m sorry about the wedding. 

A bucket of ice dumped over me.  “You don’t mean that.” I snatch my hand away.

He hisses again. “No.  Not like--God, that’s not what I...”

Mamoru sucks in a breath, releasing it in an exasperated huff.  He runs his hand through his hair.  “I _meant,_ ” he starts again, “that I’m sorry for what it put you through, being involved.”

Before I can protest, he holds up a hand.  “I know--I know you agreed to it, and I know you wouldn’t have said yes if you hadn’t feel pressured because we’re all in the same social circle.  I just never fully agreed with putting you in that position, and it obviously stressed you out.  And I’m sorry I didn’t say this before, or argue more with Usagi about asking you in the first place, or just...something.”

That was what he was sorry for? The urge to laugh, to scream, to yell rises again.  I closed my eyes and tried to think through the warring emotions.  “Mamoru,” I say softly, “I don’t want an apology for that.  I should have realized I wasn’t ready.  What happened there was my fault.”

“Rei--”  
  
“No.  Stop.”  My glare quells him into silence.  Mamoru was always a open book to me, but more and more those pages seem to be written in a foreign language.  He’d have never dared to condescend to me like this before--would he?  A million arguments suddenly slam back to mind with all the clarity and bitterness of the moment.  

He had.  Any time I got upset, righteously or not, it was always me being “hysterical” and Mamoru rushing in my wake to play white knight--either to save whomever I was angry at, or to martyr himself on the altar of my fuckups when I had to deal with consequences.  Just like he was doing now.  If only he had _blank_ he might have stopped me from doing _blank_ before I could regret my obviously poor judgement.  

“I don’t need you to apologize for _my_ bad decisions.  I need you to apologize for yours.”

“Usagi wasn’t a bad decision,” says Mamoru with a defensive clench of his jaw.

“ _I_ didn’t say she was.”  I stand and brush  the dirt off my butt.  “Thank you for dinner.  I’ll still see you tomorrow?”  

Mamoru nods  from his place on the ground, dark blue eyes still watching me, cool and impersonal.  “Of course.”

I nod to him and, despite myself, offer him the faintest of smiles.  Inside, Usagi and Jed are still talking but I instantly note that Usagi has positioned herself so she can watch us on the patio.  What did she think Mamoru might do?  Cheat?

Another giggle fit tries to surface; I fight it down as hard as I can.  Jed glances me over, then offers a lopsided smile.  “Tired?”  
  
“Yeah.  Sorry to cut thing short.”   
  
“I understand,” says Usagi.  She gets up and hugs me.  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, OK?”

“I will,” I promise, but I won’t.  There’s nothing I need from her...except for her to be her usual, sunny self.  I give her another firm squeeze, then let her go.  Jed nods to Mamoru through the patio door, who lifts his hand but otherwise doesn’t move.

* * *

 

 

To my surprise Jed walks me to the door when we reach my house, and he waits with his shoulder against the brick, gazing down at me as I unlock the door.  “Thanks,” I say softly, as I toy with my keys and face him.

“Very welcome,” he replies as easily.  Our eyes meet and I’m suddenly floored by how blue they are.  It isn’t as though I’d never noticed, but for the first time I am completely aware of him--every inch of him.  It is way too hot out here for these sweats.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he leans in, gaze flickering between my eyes and lips.  My teeth and tongue graze over my bottom lip, wetting it just a little as I lean in in kind.

His fingertips have just touched my jawline, firm but gentle, when a pair of headlights rakes over us.  It’s just a neighbor, but it startles the sense into both of us and we pull away as one.  Jed rubs the back of his neck, wincing.  “Shit,” he mutters, “I’ve got work in the morning.”

I nod.  “I know the wake is long, but--”  
  
“I’ll be there,” Jed assures me, and catches my hand to give it a quick squeeze.  I hold on lightly as he heads back to his car, his grip slowly failing until our fingers brush.  Before he can see my confusion, I duck inside and lock the door behind me. 

* * *

 

This house was never a noisy one, not even when I was a child, and yet the silence is now too much.  I toss and turn for hours, and finally get up to wander through the rooms until I come to a stop at Grandfather’s bedroom door.

It is as he left it: immaculate and minimalistic.  Monastic, even.  

Though I’d tried to talk him a thousand times into a western-style bed, Grandfather had insisted his futon was more comfortable.  It’s still there, in the middle of the floor with his blanket folded on top of the pillow.  

Crossing the bare wooden floor, I sink onto the futon and pull the blanket around my shoulders.  His pillow still smells of him--like green tea and Old Spice--and finally I drift into dreamless sleep.

* * *

  
The wake was lovely, or so everyone keeps reminding me with quiet, patient smiles and unwanted hugs as they slide out the door.  I can’t really remember, myself.  My awareness limited itself to Grandfather’s corpse; swirls of incense still lingering about his form as the priests finished their work.  He didn’t look like he was sleeping any more than mother had.

When most of the guests have gone, my father grumbles some words and pats me on the shoulder.  I watch as his driver closes the Rolls Royce’s door behind him, then I close my own door and return to the kitchen.  My kitchen.  How long will that last?

Makoto Kino is still picking up in there, wrapping leftovers and putting them into the refrigerator.  Nathan is there with her, and for a second I think he must be helping. Then Makoto practically slams a dish of rice onto the counter.  She whirls, finger raised to prod his chest--and sees me.  Thin lipped and red-faced, Makoto returns to packing up the food without uttering a sound.  

Nathan glances at the door, and me, and straightens his shoulders.  “Hey, Rei...how are you holding up?”

“I’m OK,” I reply slowly, looking the caterer over.  I’d met her briefly the day of our wreck, and again earlier that afternoon, but I hadn’t been paying much attention in either instance.  Now, though, I zoomed in on how tall she was--just a few inches shy of Nathan’s six feet.  Her hair was a rusty auburn, pulled in a tight bun to keep it out of the food, and her complexion clear and rosy.  She was also very, very buxom--a feature not even her clean and professional uniform  could disguise/  She pretty, albeit in a much more earthly manner than Minako.  I wouldn’t have ever thought to compare them if it hadn’t been for..

“You two know each other?”

“No,” says Makoto.

“Yeah,” says Nathan, simultaneously.  Though she glares at him, he shrugs.  “Her company has catered our office events a few times.” 

“Small world,” I say and pluck the glass of wine I’ve been nursing all night from the kitchen table.  

“You have no idea,” mutters Makoto, so softly I think she thinks I couldn’t hear her.  A ball of queasy anger begins somewhere inside of me.  Minako’s outburst is starting to make sense.

“Thank you for tonight, Ms. Kino.  It was lovely.”

“It was my pleasure,” the woman replied with more heart than before.  She offers me a sad smile.  “I know how hard these things can be.  I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”  

Makoto brushes her hands off against a rag she’d brought with her and surveys the kitchen.  “I think that’s the last of it.  Is there anything else I can do…?”  
  
“No.”  Shaking my head, I put the glass down again and move forward to take her hand.  “I’m...This was wonderful, like I said.  Exactly what he would have wanted.”

“My pleasure,” Makoto says, and shakes my hand.  Then she hurries out the door, like hounds are chasing at her heels--but not without a final, scolding look at Nathan.

He has his hands braced against the kitchen counter, staring intently at the travertine.  “Rei,” he begins, and stops.  Nathan’s bright eyes flicker toward the kitchen doors, as though judging how close any of the others are.  I open the hall door, show him it’s clear, and shut it again with  my back to the wood.   I cross my arms.  

“I tried,” he said finally.  Moving like a man much older than his thirty-something years, he takes a glass from the cabinet and pours himself a half cup of wine.  He nods to my discarded glass.  I pick it up and bring it over, watching as he fills it in kind.  

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” I say.

“I know.”  Nathan sighs.  His hip rests against the counter by the sink and he stares up at the ceiling a minute.  After taking a long draught of wine, he puts the glass on the counter and says, “I just want to apologize.  For, y’know, drama at the funeral.  Wake.  Whatever.  That isn’t right.”

“Life doesn’t stop--”  I nearly add “for the dead” and catch myself with a scoff.  “Grandfather wouldn’t want us all moping around about it.  I’ve done my fair share.  So if you want to talk...talk.”

“Okay…”  He scrubs the back of his neck with one hand and kneads his bottom lip with his teeth.  “I about shit my pants when I realized who you got catering.  Of all the people in this entire city--”

“I get the one you’re sleeping with.”  When he doesn’t respond, I take a sip of wine and set my glass down.  “Nate.”

“Yes!  Yes, OK.  Yeah.”  He growls and gestures broadly with both hands, glowering at me.  “Yeah, we...we were dating for about three months, but.  But that’s over, now, OK.”

“I’m not the one whose forgiveness you need,” I remind him as gently as I can.  “You didn’t cheat on me.”

“Yeah.”  Nathan groans and closes his eyes.  “Things haven’t been good with us.  Surely you know that.  I know she tells you everything.”

“Nate,” I start, but he shakes his head with a smirk.

“It's alright.  I get it.  I mean...it’s not like we told you.”

It’s a cliche, isn’t it, that time seems to slow when faced with a horrific, world-shattering realization?  But it’s true, too.  I stared at Nate for what seemed to be ages as he nattered on, explaining something I only half heard while pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t even known I’d been putting together were rushing to assemble themselves in my head.  Maybe it should have occurred to me earlier.  Maybe I was daft for not realizing, like Nathan had, that we all _knew_ Minako was seeing someone else without his knowledge.  Or at least, Jadeite and I did.  And probably Mamoru.

But I hadn’t.  I hadn’t realized it.  In my grief I’d assumed no one had known but the pair of them; that they’d been as careful not to let our friends see as they were to keep it from me.  But that was ridiculous.   

Nathan is silent now, staring at me from across the counter.  His eyes are slowly widening, jaw dropping open as he realizes in almost comedic fashion what a bomb he’s dropped into my fragile, ridiculous world.  And I know I can’t be mad at him.  Not when I’ve done the same to him.  No, I can’t be mad at _him_.

And the kitchen door swings open.  A familiar, curly blond man steps through, his smile fading into perplexity as he catches the tableau before him.  At the way I’m glaring without even turning to face him.  Hot, wicked, murderous rage bubbles in the alcohol-fueled heat of my stomach, into my veins, churns up my throat.  It hisses through my lips, “Get.  Out.  Of.  My.  House.”

“Rei--” Nathan starts to object.  I silence him with a glare, then whirl around to face Jebediah.  How many times had been there for me, let me cry on his shoulder?  He’d been so kind through all of this.  But he’d never spoken up.  He never _told_ me...and somehow that hurts worse than the idea that neither had Minako or Ami or anyone else.  It hurts in the way Grandfather’s death hurts, and it doesn’t occur to me that the one might be affecting the other.

“Get out,” I repeat, jabbing a finger toward the door and my other fist clenched into my skirt to keep from wrapping those nails around his neck.  

Distantly, I realize the voices in the other room have gone quiet.  The hall door is still open.

“Wha--why--”  

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”  He flinches away like I’d tried to punch him, then stiffens.  Jed straightens, shoulders tensing defensively as he casts his gaze over my shoulder to Nathan.  “Oh don’t even start with him, you should have fucking told me.”

“I thought you were over--”

“Over what?  Over my fiancee dumping me for my so-called best friend?  Or over a guy who has been a really close, good friend knowing about the whole goddamn thing the entire time and never telling me?  Cause I gotta say, Jed, that last bit is pretty fucking new information.”

“What do you want me to say?”  He roars back, throwing his hands wide.  His cheeks are bright now, bright as his wet, blue eyes.  But there is fire behind them, not sadness, as his voice lowers to a sullen, dangerous pitch.  “Huh?  That I’m sorry?  I am.  But these things happen.  It wasn’t my secret to tell, and it isn’t like you can claim to be any better now can you?”

“Oh.  Don’t. You.   _Even_ compare these situations!  They’re both cheating on each other!  That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

“It might not look that way from the top of that horse, but it sure as fuck is from down here, princess.”  Jed sighs, shakes his head slowly, and holds his hands up defensively.  “I’m sorry.  Really, Rei, I am so, so sorry.  I should have said something, but I just didn’t know how--”

A sharp, bitter laugh breaks from my lips as I reel back.  “You didn’t know how? You didn’t know how to open your mouth and say ‘Rei, Mamoru is cheating on you with that harlot you call a best friend?’  That’s really difficult to figure out.”

For some reason his eyes cut back to the hallway.  Something warns me I ought to shut my mouth, but the fire.  The fire inside burns.  It prods his chest with a finger and hisses, “What have you been playing at, exactly, huh?  Have the past few months just been some massive guilt trip?”

“We’re friends,” he said, glowering at me again.  One hand wraps around mine, stopping me from jabbing him.  “You keep seeming to forget that."

“Friends?”  I laugh, mean and low, and another bit of the puzzle snaps into place and tumbles out my mouth before I can stop it.  “Because it was starting to seem like you were trying to get into my pants.” 

Blood pumps into Jed’s cheeks and the tips of his ears.  He swallows thickly and something deep in my chest begins to hurt.  Don’t say it, I think, Please God don’t say it.  But it’s too late.  Far too late.

“I never _just_ wanted in your pants, OK,” he all but growls.  “I love yo--”

Silence.  An awful, tremulous, retching silence follows the sting of my palm against his cheek.  The betraying hand presses its knuckles into my lips.  “Jed…”

He shakes his head.  The front door slams behind him before my ears fully register the stomp, stomp, stomp of his path to the exit.  Slowly, I fold my one hand--my respectful, clean hand--over my eyes as I hold the betrayer before me.  I hadn’t meant to hurt him.  But that doesn’t matter now.  

“What did you mean--,” ventures Nathan.

“Please leave.  Please.”

I hear the glass settle on the counter, and Nathan’s feet on the tile as he passes behind me to the door.  Ami steps out of the living room, then, with Minako and Usagi and Mamoru and others whose presence I had completely forgotten about.  Usagi’s cheeks are streaked with silvery wet lines.

They watch me only a moment before flowing around me like water past a boulder, toward the door.  In the morning, Grandfather’s body will be taken away again by the coroner for cremation.  Until then, I am left with only my grief to guard his body until dawn.

* * *

  
"Yo, you’ve reached Jed’s phone.  I can’t answer right now, but if you scream obscenities into my mailbox I’ll be sure to block your number.  Unless you’re Rei, that’s just normal for her.  And if you’re a debt collector, man, good fucking luck.  Peace.”

-BEEP-

“Jed...I am so sorry.  Things just got out of hand.  I was distraught, with the funeral and everything else.  I really didn’t mean to...look, I’m just sorry.  Call me.  Please.”

* * *

  
Monday starts slow but proper, with plenty of time for breakfast, coffee, and an uneventful drive into work.  For a few hours I’m able to forget that Grandfather is gone and none of my friends are speaking to me.  I lose myself in the endless budgeting reports and financial statements generated by our corporation and its various sub-corporations without even a pointless chair meeting to ruin my even temper.   

And then three o’clock runs around.  My assistant raps on the office door in her familiar, woodpecker fashion.  She slips through the smallest opening she can fit through, then closes it behind herself with hardly a whisper of noise.  “Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“Jed--er, Mr. Cooper just sent up a message for you.”  She lifts a slim, folded note from the pile of papers eternally clutched against her left hip.  Then, with sharp, crisp steps she comes close enough to hand it over, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I’ve neither asked or reached for it.  After a moment of my staring, she sets it on the desk and flashes me an uncomfortable smile.  

“Are we in highschool?” I mutter.  But no sooner has Stacy’s back turned do I rip the note open and scan the contents.  And slump in my seat.  “Stacy?”

“Ma’am?”  She stops at the door, pivoting on point to look at me.

“Is Mr. Aino still in his office?”

“Yes.  Would you like me to send him in?”  

“No.  No that’s alright.”

“Well, alright then,” she replied after a long silence.  She left the way she came, and my eyes drew back down to the note in my hands.

 

> _Rei._
> 
> _I think it’s time your mother went to rest in the family home.  With your Grandfather.  May I come by on Wednesday evening?  We can put them in together._
> 
> _Forgive me,_
> 
> _Your Father_

 

I closed my eyes and set the note on the desk.  It’s exactly what I wanted.  Right?  I should be happy.  I should be thinking about Grandfather, and how happy this would have made him.  But a week ago, Jed would have delivered this note himself.  He would have sat on the corner of my desk and pretend he was trying to read what it said, though we both knew he’d never violate my privacy like that.  Not without cause.  

And I used to think it was because we were friends.  That was probably part of it, right?  But maybe it was also because he used to want to see me the way I’d always wanted to see Mamoru in the past.  The way I wanted Jed to come through that door now, or to feel I had any right going over to his office.  But I don’t.  And he didn’t.

And my mother and grandfather will be together at last.

* * *

 

  
“Yo, you’ve reached Jed’s phone.  I can’t answer right now, but if you scream obscenities into my mailbox I’ll be sure to block your number.  Unless you’re Rei, that’s just normal for her.  And if you’re a debt collector, man, good fucking luck.  Peace.”

-BEEP-

“I shouldn’t have done that.  No matter what.  There isn't any excuse, and I am sorry.  Just meet me somewhere to talk about it?  Please.”

* * *

 

  
Tuesday the house feels like a graveyard.  Nothing moves.  No footsteps in distance rooms.  No baseball on TV.  No old man bickering with the commentators who can’t hear him.  

I don’t have any tears left to shed, which is undoubtedly a good thing.  I linger at the office to keep from facing that silence, and the light under Jed’s door is dark when I walk out.  He didn’t even stop to check.

* * *

  
On wednesday I sit in the diner booth opposite a caesar, no dressing, no croutons, no cheese, extra oil.  I sit there for two hours.  

* * *

 

  
Grandfather’s urn settles next to Mother’s in the family altar with the barest of thunks.  For a moment I stand there, watching as the incense floats in pretty tendrils around the pair and the photograph of them I’ve placed just behind.  Father’s hand touches my shoulder, and for once I don’t move away.  “Thank you,” I whisper.

“She should have been here,” he replied in kind.  “I’m sorry I kept her so long.”

“I understand.”  And I do.  There had been a time I didn’t, but now I do.  Taking a slow breath, I offer him a smile.  “Tea?”

Father smiles in return.  Together, we return to the kitchen where I brew  two cups; peppermint and earl grey.  Father perches on a stool while I stand opposite, blowing at the steam on my mug and trying not to feel the ghosts in this house.  “It’s quiet today,” Father sighs, “I figured you’d have Ami here.  Or... _Him_.”

“It’s a family thing, isn’t it?”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t call me on my bullshit.  And it is bullshit, but I’m trying not to think of the unanswered voicemails and texts; of the way Jed won’t meet my eyes at work or acknowledge any non-business related matters; of the way Mamoru’s assistant swears he’s never in his office right now.  Ami is the only one who gives me the time of day, but even those calls are quiet and distracted.

“Has the lawyer said anything?”

I raise my eyebrows.  “Beyond the initial arrangements?  Their office has been calling.  How did you know…?”

“Your Grandfather never did things by half.  Might have been a temperamental old coot, but he was efficient.  Like someone else I know.”

“Gee, thanks.”  I manage a chuckle and half-smile, half hearted but there at the least.

Father snorts.  “I meant Jebediah; _Him_.  You two are rather close, aren’t you?”

“Dad…”

“Do I need to fire him?”

I stand up, palms flat on the counter.  “What?”

“Do I need to fire him,” he repeats with all the patience he might show for a hugely annoying,  five year old.  “I’ve seen that shamefaced look he’s been giving you, the way you avoid each other now.  Did he try to hurt you?”

I swallow against the sudden tightness of my throat, blink away the sting of my eyes.  “Dad…”  But lest he misinterpret, I shake my head quickly and wave a hand at him.  “No, Daddy, no.  He didn’t hurt me.  I mean, not like you’re thinking.”  

My teeth catch on my bottom lip.  “I hurt him, actually.  Well.  He...It’s complicated.”

“It usually is,” my father replied slowly, and yet...was that relief in his voice?  Whether or not it was, he seems to relax as he sinks a little more casually against the bar top.  “Work it out, would you?  He’s moping about like a scolded puppy.”

“I’m trying,” I promise, and that seems to be enough for him at least.

* * *

 

 

My hair is waterlogged and clinging to my back when I realize the music just audible over the roar of the shower is my cell going off.  With a little half shriek, I jump out of the shower and grab at the towel rack to keep myself from falling over.  Snagging a towel, I wrap it about myself as I run out the room and across the hall to half-fall over my bed as I grab the device off the nightstand.

“Jed,” I pant.

“Ms. Hino?” Inquires a small, feminine voice from the other end.  “Is this a bad time?”

Wincing with both embarrassment and disappointment, I stammer, “No.  Ah, no.  It’s fine.  Um.  I’m sorry, who is this?”

“This is Natalie from the law office of Salazar and Hatchett.  I’m calling on behalf of Setsuna Meiou to schedule an appointment for the reading of one Mr. Nishimura’s last will and testament.”

“Oh.”  It takes a moment to realize she’s waiting for some kind of affirmative.  I’d know this was coming, but I’d also forgotten.  With everything else going on, it’d seemed so small, so insignificant.  “Of course.  What times do you have available?”

* * *

  
Ms. Meiou’s grip is firm over the surface of her sleek, modern glass desk.  She gestures to the chair opposite herself, then settles back into hers with a quick brush beneath her to keep her skirt in place.  “Good afternoon, Ms. Hino.  I’m glad to see you looking well.”

“Thank you.  I’m sorry, I realize I was supposed to call earlier to set this up, I just…”

“I understand.”  Her smile, kind and just a little sad, says she does, in fact, understand; it isn’t simply a rote response.  Having seen that, I relax a little and clasp my hands together in my lap.  

“Grandfather never mentioned a will to me, before.  I suppose I should have realized…”

Ms. Meiou nods slowly as she flips open a slender, hardback portfolio on her desk.  “If you’ll permit me, your Grandfather was a very private man.  Many of my clients are, but I always felt he, in particular, was...very conscious of how his decisions may affect others.  Especially you.”

A frown settles deep into my brow as I consider.  She isn’t wrong, but it’s strange to hear something of the sort from a woman I’d not even been aware he’d known.  Of course, there were likely a lot of things in my grandfather’s life I hadn’t known about.  And never would.  Blinking away tears, I nod.  

“He was also very...minimalistic,” she offers with another smile, brighter this time.  “In most cases there’s an entire production with the reading of the will, a long introduction and everything.  But as he requested I not do that, I won’t.  Here are the simple facts:  you are his sole heir.  The firm has deducted from his estate the costs of his last remaining debts--few for this day and age--our retaining fee, and the inheritance taxes incurred.”

She shuffles an envelope from the pile of papers and hands it over to me.  “He wrote this for you, to be opened--in his words--when you have the heart to do so, though he would appreciate if it were on your mother’s birthday.”

I draw in a deep breath as I take the envelope, turning it over in my hands to see the kanji of my name drawn in Grandfather’s gentle, artistic hand.  My eyes sting.

“With that said, I bequeath to you all remaining properties of Mr. Ken Nishimura, a detailed account of which can be found within this portfolio, but he wanted me to note particularly that it includes his property here in town.”

“The house?”

Ms. Meiou looks up.  “On Barker?  Yes.  As I said, we’ve already handled the taxes on these in your name and the title transfers, where applicable, will be mailed to you as soon as they’re processed.  If you’d like, I can go over the accounts in detail with you.”

“No.”  I shake my head, feeling as though I’m simultaneously waking from a nightmare and slipping into one.  I hold out my hand again and Ms. Meiou places the portfolio in it.  “Thank you.  I’ll go over it in a few days.  Ah.  If I have any questions…?”

“You can call any time,” Ms. Meiou assures me with a smile.  “It was very good to meet you, Ms. Hino.”

* * *

  
Friday, I’m not home more than a minute before the doorbell rings.  Pausing, shoes in one hand and purse in the other, I stare at the door a moment before the bell rings again.  “Hold on,” I shout, dump my purse and shoes at the side of the hall, then stand on tiptoe to peek through the peephole. 

I yank the door open and stare at Nathan, who smiles sheepishly and lofts a six pack of beer that would look more in place had we been college frat buddies rather than ex-significant-others to one-another's’ close friends.  Is he an ex?  Yes.  After all that he has to be.  “I really hate to ask,” he starts, and trails off like he doesn’t really have the nerve to get the rest of the question out.

“She threw you out.”

“I left.”  He scoffs as I cross my arms.  “No, really.  I did.  I started my affair first.  Figured it was only fair she get the apartment.  But I’m going to blow through what little savings I have on a motel, now that Jed and Zakiya refused to help me out.  Usagi won’t even give me couch space.  Not that her couches are anything a sane person would want to sleep on.”

Nathan scuffs his shoe on the doorstep and bows his head.  At this angle, it’s easier to see the bags under his eyes; to note just how shabby his fashionably shabby attire has become.  “I can’t get a new place without that money, Rei.  I know--I know you’re the last person I should ask for favors right now, but I don't have anywhere else to go.  Except my car.  Which sadly doesn’t have a shower, unless it rains.  Or a toilet.  It’ll only be a few days, I swear.”

“The guest room is down the hall,” I reply, relenting with a stifled sigh.  Though I don’t particularly like Nathan right now, it doesn’t seem right to leave him in a tight spot.  He’s still a friend, after all.  Of sorts.  And...what would Grandfather have said?

“Thank you,” he breathes with such genuine gratitude I’m instantly ashamed for doubting him.  I step to one side and let him slip around me.  

* * *

  
By evening I’m grateful to have someone else in the house.  Nathan has kept mostly to the guest room and downstairs bathroom, but the living presence of another person still helps to alleviate the otherwise unnerving quiet.  

The idea of this house being mine now...it’s both comforting and uncomfortable at once.  I sit on a pillow facing the family butsudan.  Mother and Grandfather’s happy, beaming faces stare back at me.  

The picture was taken shortly after Grandfather came to live with us.  Mother had come come to stay; she still had an oxygen feeder draped across her face, but she’d seemed so happy and healthy my five-year-old self had believed she was better.  I didn’t understand she’d come home to die.  

Grandfather was younger in this picture, straight-backed and square shouldered.  He sat in the window seat with her, arms around her like she was a young child again.  I could almost hear him reciting some anecdote of his youth that seemed to me as much fantasy as reality; he’d always been full of tales of the sometimes playful, sometimes malicious spirits who’d infested the shrine where he’d grown up.

Mother loved his stories.  She’d loved him, and he’d loved her, and for a brief while I’d had a perfect example of what a father and daughter relationship could be.  I’d never had that with my own father, for all that he seemed hell bent on protecting me when I least wanted or needed assistance.  

After she died, Father wanted nothing to do with this house anymore.  We’d expected Grandfather to return to Japan and father moved us both to a condo, but it seemed Grandfather couldn’t let it go.  He bought the house from Father, and when Father began going on about send me to boarding school he insisted I be allowed to stay with him, instead.  I’d grown up here.  I’d loved and cried and hated and laughed within these walls my entire life.

I could continue doing that.  I could remain here until I, too, died in my recliner and left the house to my daughter or granddaughter.

My face heats.  The notion of children isn’t a new one--I’d always expected Mamoru and I would have at least one--but who would I even have them with,  now?  The fresh mental image of a grinning Jed with a black-haired baby bundled against his chest arises quickly.  With panic, I try and squash the idea down, down, down.  It’s scary, and heartbreaking, and right.

And moving far, far too fast.  Jed isn’t even speaking with me.  With every passing day I’m less sure he ever will again.  Or, less dramatically, when he does it will be different.  What _sort_ of different...I don’t know.

More importantly, is my heart truly yearning for him or the _idea_ of him?

I clutch my hands into fists over my knees, barely aware of the world around me any more.  The problem--the huge, gargantuan Problem-with-a-capital-P I’ve been circling around for eight months, now--rises to the surface with a gut-wrenching crash.

I’ve never loved anyone but Mamoru.  It’s _always_ been him and me, since we were fifteen and sixteen, respectively, and our marriage seemed like destiny.  We’d had our fights, our sullen moments, but until that parking lot I’d never thought he would leave me.  

That wasn’t quite true.  I’d never thought he would leave me for someone else.  Like my realization that he’d been condescending to me most of our relationship, the memories of fights and tears and bitter nights spent on the couch with a tub of ice cream were beginning to resurface from the rose-colored haze of sorrow and hurt.  It hadn’t always been easy, and part of me had just assumed that strife was what a relationship _was_.  

I had never dated like my peers had.  Hell, I’d never even flirted with anyone but him--not that I’d noticed.  While everyone else, Ami included, had been figuring out how to find a relationship that worked and cast off those that didn’t, Mamoru and I had been focused on keeping the one we had.  Deep down, in the cruelest part of me, I thought we were better than them.  I thought that, unlike every other kid around us, we’d had it all figured out.  We were so damned mature.

But maybe, really, we’d just been two people latching on to a broken thing because we’d both lost too much too early in life and we’d never learned that loss can be restorative as it is painful. That sometimes it's better to let go what isn’t working, because if you never let go...you can never find something that will.

None of that excused what he did.  None of it excused what I did.  

And I don’t think he meant to hurt me.  Just like I hadn’t mean to hurt Jed, or Mina, or Nathaniel, or even Usagi.  

Usagi.

Blinking away tears, and absently scrubbing them from my cheek with one hand, I come back to world as I pull my cellphone from my jeans with one hand.  The display is clear of everything but the time--of course it is.  Ignoring the twinge of my heart, I pull up my contact list and find the one person I hadn’t tried to call.

With bated breath, I listen as her ringback tone sings a merry tune--some j-pop girl band I can’t recall the name of--until, to my sheer surprise, the phone clicks and a wary voice says “Hey?” in a dubious, dour tone.  
  
It takes me a moment to recognize the voice as Usagi’s.  I try to force a smile, but she can’t see it and I’m sure that’s for best.  “Hey,” I say, and for a moment there’s silence, as awkward as it is hopeful.  And then we’re both talking at once.

“Rei-chan I am _so sorry_ \--”   
  
“--- what all you overheard but--

“--I didn’t know you still felt--”

“--I shouldn’t have said that it wasn’t--

“--when I asked that totally wasn’t--”

Silence, sudden and stretching, until a light chuckle from Usagi’s end carries into full on laughter for us both.  Hysterical, maybe, but there’s some relief in it.  Stress and doubt and worry begin to uncoil from my gut until, finally, I can catch my breath enough to ask, “Can we please meet somewhere?  You’re welcome at the house, but…”

But Nathan is upstairs.  I shove aside his statement about Usagi refusing to let him stay with her and Mamoru.  The hypocrisy might piss me off all over again, and I can’t deal with that right now.

“How about the ice cream parlor?”  
  
“On Cherry Hill?”   
  
“Where else?”  

Of course Usagi wants ice cream.  I roll eyes and smile.  Ice cream didn’t sound half bad.  “I’ll see you there.”

* * *

 

She’s ensconced herself in the back corner by the time I arrive, hidden behind a sundae large as her head.  There’s a second spoon set across from her, and a wondrous amount of mint chocolate chip--my favorite, not hers.  Granted, Usagi’s “favorite” can rightly be defined as “anything with a mild hint of nutritional value,” but it’s the gesture that counts.

I plop gracelessly into the reserved seat, stowing my bag beside my feet, and find her watching me with red, irritated eyes.  She smiles a weaker version of her usual, sun-beam brilliance, and digs a spoon into her side of the confection without actually scooping anything out.  “It’s not exactly a great apology.  I mean, I’m not sure there is a _great_ way to say ‘sorry I stole your fiancee,’ but--”

“He’s _your_ husband, Buns,” I interject before she can go further.  Her eyebrows raise, though I’m not sure if it’s because I pointed out the obvious, or that I’m using her old nickname.  She’d been little more than an acquaintance when we were in college, a girl who lived down the hall from Minako and I, but she’d had this habit of wearing her hair in two high buns, one to either side of her head, when going to the showers or gym.  Eventually the whole hall had known her by that name.  Though we’d only become friends after she’d been hired on at Mamoru’s firm, the nickname had stuck.

I sigh, hunching my shoulders a little as I cross my arms against the table.  It’s horrible posture.  Between that, my slumping messy bun, and the obvious couch-and-bad-movie breakup-sweats ensemble I’m sporting, I know I look like hell.  And I honestly don’t care.  It was hard enough getting myself together to go to work this week.  I’ll be damned if I bother on the weekend.

“He’s your husband,” I repeat, forcing myself to meet her gaze.  “Honestly, I’m not even sure I love him anymore.  Not like that.  I just--it was--”

She doesn’t say anything, bless her.  Instead, she pushes the ice cream a little closer to me and gives me the lightest, encouraging smile.  Finally, I pick up the spoon and dig out a gargantuan spoonful.  It’s freezing cold and wonderful and _painful._  Wincing, I stick the spoon into the ice cream and rub my forehead until the freeze subsides.

The pause is painful, but it gives me time.  It gives me room.  “I’m such a damn hypocrite,” I mutter, and the admission feels good.  “I’ve known for weeks Mina was messing around with Shin, but I didn’t tell Nate.  Jed knew.  Neither of us said a damned word.  But when Nate mentioned the rest of them knew about _you two_ ...I’d never put it together.  It makes sense, in hindsight, but I hadn’t...”   
  
Usagi winces.  “Yeah, I…”  She takes a deep breath, still jabbing her side of the sundae fruitlessly.  A pool of melted ice cream is beginning to collect beneath the bowl; neither of us seem to care.  “I guess I wanted to think you had.”  

At my frown, Usagi grimaces again and shrugs.  “This whole time you’ve been acting so O.K. with everything.  You didn’t scream, you didn’t yell--not at me, anyway.  Mamoru...well…”

“Should have known he told you about that,” I sigh, though I’m not surprised.  The days immediately following the Whole Foods parking lot had involved a lot of screaming.  And throwing things.  And more screaming.  And packing.  And more screaming.  I’d done my best not to show it outside the house, but I’d had a feeling Mamoru complained about it all to Usagi, at least, and probably Ami, too.  Probably all of them.  

She has the grace to look apologetic.  “It didn’t seem right, after what I did, to bring it up when you clearly didn’t want to talk...so...when you kept seeming like everything was fine...I just--”  She takes a deep breath and sits up, straightening her shoulders the way I’ve seen her do only when she’s about to give someone a righteous earful.  It doesn’t happen often; Usagi has always prefered kindness and joy, but when she believes she’s right--and she usually is--she has little problem telling  you so.  I’d just never been on the receiving end before.

“--The way Mamoru was going on--before you found out, I mean--I thought you were both unhappy and on the rocks.  You were always complaining about him to me.  You never seemed to want to be around him.  You were _happier_ every time he went away for work, and annoyed when he came back, and….It just didn’t seem like either of you really wanted to be together any more.”

“That wasn’t  your decision.”  
  
“I know.”  Her haught melts, just a little, at being called on her own bullshit.   
  
Thinking back, I can remember a slew of conversations in the months before their betrayal.  Every time I’d made a comment about Mamoru, Usagi would jump in to defend him, or quietly point out that he wasn’t so bad.  After I’d seen them together, I’d thought it had only been that she was seeing him behind my back.  It was still that, of course...but was it possible it was also concern?  However high-handed it was coming across, Usagi was always truly concerned.  I knew that.  I’d known that for months--it was part of why I’d been hell bent on keeping my tongue with her.  

Her hands were clasped together now, white knuckled and pleading where they rested on the table top.  I took a breath, but before I could say anything she continued: “I am sorry.  I know you don’t think I should apologize--”  
  
“It’s not that you shouldn’t,” I snap, and wince immediately after.  Holding my hands up, I say more calmly, “It isn’t that I don’t want an apology.  But you and Mamoru both seem hell bent on apologizing for the wrong thing.”   
  
She stops, staring at me a moment before slowly drawling, “Okay.  What do you think we should apologize for?”

The words catch at my throat, the same way they’ve been doing these past few months.  Why this is the hardest part, I don’t know.  Why no one else seems able to just _see_ it, I don’t know.  I clench my hands together until I can feel my nails biting into my palms and finally, _finally_ , the words come loose: “I want you to apologize for _hurting me_ .  I get why you’re together--no, really, Usagi, I do.”   
  
She closes her mouth on whatever she was going to say, eyes wide and watery.  I barrel on.  “You and Mamoru...you’ve both tried to apologize for your relationship, and while that’s _why_ you hurt me, it isn’t part that did the hurting.  Your silence did that.   _His_ refusal to tell me he wanted to leave before he was forced to; _your_ going along with me being pissed at him without telling me you were on his side.  We were friends.  We _are_ friends.  Aren’t we?”

Usagi’s hand darts across the table to clutch at mine.  Her sleeve drips through the melted mint-chocolate and she doesn’t seem to notice or care.  “Of course we are!”  She squeezes my hand and smiles through the tears rolling down her cheeks.  

Anyone else who cried at a moment like this, I might find them manipulative.  But I know Usagi.  I know she cries over silly kid’s movies, and puppies, and anger, and--hell--she’d probably cry over a snowflake melting in spring.  “And I am _so sorry_ for hurting you.”   
  
I put my free hand over hers briefly, giving it a squeeze.  I’ve never been much for crying in public, and I blink rapidly to keep it from happening now.  “I’m sorry about your dress,” I rasp.

She laughs, loudly and vibrant and just like herself again.  Careless of the eyes on us, Usagi lets my hand go and brandishes her spoon.  “Come on.  This isn’t going to eat itself!”

* * *

 

Nathan is watching TV when I get home.  I stop in the living room door, watching him for a long moment.  He’s taken the other recliner--the one grandfather _didn’t_ die in and is staring at the TV in a way that reeks of complete disinterest.   

  
“Hey.”   
  
He looks up, instantly wary and ashamed--like he wasn’t meant to be in here.  Feeling a little bit the monster, I offer a slight smile and raise the six pack I picked up between the ice cream shop and home.  “Think it’s cool enough for a bonfire?”

Nathan’s hesitance cracks by inches.  He nods and gets up.  “You guys still keep that wood pile out back?”  
  
“We do...but I have something else in mind.”  At his confused look, I hold out the beer and wait until he takes it.  I shoo him toward the door, then head back to my room.  A few minutes later we have folding chairs set up around the old  brick pit in the backyard.     
  
He’s already started a small flame with kindling and wood, but he scoffs when he sees what I’ve brought out in its cardboard box.  “Isn’t this a little dramatic?”   
  
“Maybe.  Maybe it makes me feel better.”   
  
I lift an ancient, moth-ball scented sweater out of the box and feed the sleeve of it into the flame.  After it catches, I let the body of the sweater sink next to the fire--not over it, or the flames will smother.  The wool smells terrible when it catches, but the sight of the familiar, hunter-green fabric going up feels like letting go.

The letters are next; the ones from high school.  I hadn’t even realized I’d kept them, but found them in a closet shortly after moving back into my old room.  Mamoru’s name, written in my own childish script, burns clean through and relief settles onto my shoulders.

Somewhere into the photographs of our last anniversary trip, Nathan appears again at the fire.  I hadn’t noticed him leave, but now he carries a small box of his own.  “You mind?”  he asks, and I’m not sure if the sparkle in his eyes is the dance of flame or tears.

“That’s what we’re out here for.”  I finally take one of the beer cans, cracking it open as he pulls a few items out of his box and tosses them into the flames.  After a long moment standing, staring at them, Nathan pulls his own can from the plastic ring.  He glances at me after it’s open, and wordlessly we clink our cans together.

* * *

 

 

“So.  What happened?” 

Nathan looks up from his noon breakfast at the bar with a baffled expression.  I shrug, taking a sip of my tea, before clarifying, “With Minako.”

He nods once, more a gesture of acknowledgement, and sighs down at his cereal.  I hadn’t asked last night, while we sat in familiar, healing quiet and listened to the fire eat the last shreds of our past few years.  It had seemed crass to bring too much conversation into that.    
  
Now, though, I felt like a heel.  This would be his third day in the house, technically, and I still wasn’t clear what was going on with him.  Them.  

“We had a bit of a...come to Buddha?” He tries a smile at me, and the joke is so bad I have to chuckle in response.  Then he sobers.  “After that whole, er, _thing_ the other week, well...It was just time to acknowledge it.  We’d been dancing around it for months.”

Thinking back to my conversation with Usagi, I nod understandingly.  He mimics the gesture, folding his arms against the bar.  Almost immediately, he breaks the gesture to reach for his coffee.   “I think, in the end, neither of us knew _how_ to end it.  Not really.  We’d been together so long…”   
  
“It felt like home.”

“Yeah.  You know.  In a sick, mostly dysfunctional way.”  Nathan makes a face and takes a long swallow of his coffee.  He grimaces after, wrinkling his nose at the mug, then sets it down and looks at me.  “Thanks.  I mean, for letting me stay after...everything.  And for last night.  Dramatic or not, that actually helped.”  
  
“Wish I’d thought of it sooner.”   
  
“You really didn’t see it coming?”   
  
“No.  Yes--no.  No.”  I rub one hand over my face, shaking my head.  “Not exactly, no.  I knew we were having trouble, I just hadn’t thought he’d go _there_.”

Nathan scoffed.  “Shit.  Talk about a slap in the--”  He must realize what he’s said, cause he groans heavily and leans back to stare at the ceiling.  “God, I’m not awake yet.  Ignore me, Rei, seriously.”  
  
“It’s half-past-noon.  You realize that, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s Sunday.”

I shake my head, unable to keep from laughing again.  That was what I’d always liked about Nathan--why he and Minako seemed to work well together.  They were rarely entirely serious, always happy to make a joke and laugh things off.  Almost always.  

“He’ll forgive you, you know.”  
  
The statement seems to come out the blue.  I look up from the dark swirl of my tea to find Nathan watching me.  “Jed,” he clarifies.  “He’ll forgive you.  I mean….if that’s what you want?”

“I can’t believe I blew up at him like that.”  
  
“I can.”  At my raised eyebrows, Nathan lifts both hands defensively.  “Hey, hey!  You were justified!  I mean, up until the end.  That was kind of fucked up.  Kid’s only been in love with you  since forever.  Probably could have chosen a better time, buuuut.  These things happen.”   
  
My gut sinks further than it had that awful night.  Part of me had begun to suspect that might be the case, arrogant as it sounds.  I’d been so wrapped up in my own world, and our comforting friendship, I hadn’t noticed.  I hadn’t wanted to notice.

And Jed--sweet, caring Jed who’d been there for me every step of the way and never asked anything in return--he’d been ignored.  He didn’t deserve that.  No matter what he’d done, or hadn’t done, he didn’t deserve that.

“He won’t talk to me. I want to make it up to him, somehow, but…”

Nathan scoffs.  “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Excuse me?”  
  
“Oh come on, Rei.”  He frowns as he rises from the bar stool, collecting the dishes he’d been using.  “You’re, like, the queen of not talking about your feelings.  How does he get _you_ to talk?”   
  
I start to say ‘he doesn’t,’ but I stop myself.  That isn’t quite true.  

* * *

  
Monday I sit nervously on the stoop of Jed’s apartment building.  A few tenants have given me sidelong looks, but there’s something about a petite woman in a business suit that must scream “non threatening” because no one stops or asks me what I’m doing.  

I got here as early as I dared.  I didn’t know Jed’s schedule, exactly, but I knew he had to get up earlier than most of the executives did as he brought Father’s breakfast every morning.  Already, I’d texted Father to let him know I’d be tying his assistant up a little--not much, not enough to effect his hours--and he’d replied that he could get his own damn coffee for once, it wouldn’t kill him.  Strange and tense as our relationship could be, I couldn’t help but feel like this was a mild improvement.  Which was almost more unnerving than sitting on this stoop, letting the cold cement slowly turn my ass into a block of armani-covered ice, waiting on a man who might not want to see me.

A familiar, surprised grunt and the tap of the door against my back makes me look up...into the surprised, blue eyes I’d been waiting to see.  It’s too much too smile, especially as his surprise turns into a scowl.  He averts his eyes and slips through the door.    
  
For a moment I feel like he’s going to just keep going--down the street and away from me.  My butt isn’t more than an inch from the cement before he turns to face me, shoving his hands in both pockets and staring at the box on my lap.     
  
I pick up one of the containers of coffee, marked with a sharpied “J,” and hold it out to him.  It’s still warm in my hand--thank whatever Gods are listening--and after another second’s hesitation, Jed accepts it.  He takes a sip, gaze never wavering from my own, and his eyebrows lift slightly.  

“Four sugars, two cream, one shot of espresso,” I say, though it’s more of a question.  I’m mostly sure I’ve got it right, but I’ve never made his coffee before--only heard him order it.  

“Want a cookie?”  His voice is tight, sharp, more upset than I’ve ever heard.

“No.  I want to talk.”  
  
“You know, when someone isn’t answering their phone that generally means _they_ don’t want to talk.”

The words sting, flung back at me as they are, and yet...and yet the corner of his mouth twitches just a little.  “But it usually means they need to,” I reply carefully, a little hopefully.  When he doesn’t immediately spit it back in my face, I open the box on my lap and hand him out a plain bagel with melted cheese covering the top.

Jed shakes his head at me, scoffing faintly...but he takes the offered breakfast in his free hand and jerks his chin off toward one end of the street.  “Come on.  I’ve gotta--”  
  
“Daddy’s fending for himself,” I say, before he thinks he has to rush into work.  I fold the box up--breakfast did not seem appetizing next to all the butterflies lodged in my stomach--and stand, grabbing my coffee in the process.

Jed sighs and for the first time, I realize that may have been an over step.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have assumed--”

“No.  No it’s fine, just don’t do that again, huh?”  He offers me a wincing smile.  “Old man thinks I’m whipped enough by you.”  
  
“Yes, well, he’s the one who told me to fix it so--” I stop, staring at his wide, hurt eyes.  “No!  Oh shit, no, Jed, that’s not why I’m here.  I swear, I wanted to fix--I mean, I wanted to apologize and--I just meant he understands, or he thinks he understands and... fuck.  This is not how I wanted this to go.”

“OK,” Jed says slowly.  He continues staring for a moment before shaking his head and chuckling.  “You are really terrible at this, aren’t you?”  
  
“I haven’t exactly had a lot of practice.”

“No...you really haven’t,” he says, and it doesn’t sound like an accusation so much as it sounds like understanding.  I look up and see him watching me, still, with an expression that says he already thought of that.  He thought of that before I did, and maybe that’s why he’s always been so damned patient.

“You were right, you know?”  

Jed gives me an incredulous look, but gestures for me to follow him down the street.  I do, chucking the used box in a nearby trash can and clasping my coffee in both hands.  All around us the streets are filled with people rushing to get to work.  Rightfully, we ought to be among them...but we stroll, keeping close to the building doors to avoid being run over.  

“When you told me I needed to talk,” I clarified, keeping my eyes ahead and voice just loud enough for him to hear.  “I should have.  Maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything.  I can’t say for sure.  But I feel like it would have made things easier.”

“What would you have said?”  
  
I glance at him, only to find him staring resiliently forward as I’d been doing.  I return my gaze and take a deep breath.  “That I was blindsided.  Shouldn’t have been, probably, but I’d trusted that Mamoru would tell me if he wanted out and he never did.  He waited until he was forced.  I don’t know what his intentions were, but I have never been so hurt in my life and I had no idea how to handle it.  So I didn’t.”   
  
Pushing away the tears trying to spring into my eyes, I shrug  and continue, “I was _refusing_ to handle it.  Not because I still wanted to be with him--I didn’t, and I don’t.  I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want me.  But because...I still don’t quite understand what he was thinking, and he’d been one of the most important people in my life since I was _ten_.  That’s a long damn time to love someone.  You don’t just stop, no matter how much you might want to.”

“Did you ask?”

The question could have been accusing, but I don’t think he means it that way.  If anything, Jed sounds genuinely curious.  I press my lips together a moment, searching the swirling, angry depths inside me.  Now that I’ve begun exploring it, it’s almost like a wound I’ve let fester.  I wouldn’t air it all to Usagi--maybe I should have, but it wasn’t fair to put her in the middle of it.  Jed, though.  Jed deserved to know.  I didn’t want there to be secrets there.

“No,” I admit.  “Well, sort of.  There were a lot of fights, right after--after I found them together.  A lot of screaming and accusations.  He--”  It was too much.  Bitterness crawled up my throat, thick and raw as the day it happened.  “He keeps trying to apologize for their relationship.  You know?  It’s always ‘I’m sorry about me and usagi.’  Not, ‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’ Not ‘I’m sorry I lied to you.’  It’s pedantic, maybe, but every time he says these things I wonder if he really loves her as much as he thinks, and then I get pissed off.  If he hurt me-- _me_ , who stood beside him for fifteen fucking years--what is he going to do to _her_?”

Jed’s hand at my elbow pulls me to a halt.  I turn to face him, at once grateful for and hating that the sun was still behind the building next to us; I could see his disbelieving stare in perfect clarity.    
  
“Are you seriously trying to say all of this was because you were worried about _her_?” He asked, and I feel something inside me break.  

“Not all of it,” I snap, jerking my arm free to cross my arms--an awkward gesture with my coffee still in one hand, but I manage. “Of course not _all_ of it.  It’s confused and weird and nonsensical, and it--it’s just hard to explain.  I’m not sure I understand it all myself.”

Jed closes his eyes.  He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out again.  But when he opens his eyes again there’s far less accusation there, and he holds his arm out to me.  Gradually, I move in closer until he can settle it around my shoulders.  We start walking again, slow as though we’re moving over eggshells.  Metaphorically, I guess we are.    
  
“I interrupted.  Sorry,” he says after a minute.  When he’s silent again, I take that as a prompt to continue.

“Usagi does the same thing, for the record; apologizes about their relationship.  And, yes, I’ve talked to her since...since the funeral.  We’re doing a bit better, now, and she seems to get it.”  
  
“You still agreed to be a bridesmaid at their wedding.”

The anger, which should have been quick to come, instead drains from me and I feel so tired I lean a little more into his comfortable weight.  “I made a mistake, Jed.”  I sigh.  “If you haven’t noticed, I am a belligerent motherfucker.”

A startled laugh shakes through his chest, and my face warms not with embarrassment but joy.  I love his laugh.  A smile tugs at my lips and I look up to find him staring down at me again, that familiar smile still on his lips.  He has freckles--just a light dusting--across his cheeks and I can’t believe I never noticed before.  

“You aren’t the only one,” he admits, squeezing his arm around me just a little.  “There were a lot of things I should have said...and one thing I really shouldn’t have. Not...not then.  Not there.”

“No, you really shouldn’t have,” I agree and feel my misstep in the way he stiffens.  We’d been drifting to a halt anyway, and I now I stop entirely.  He’s started to pull away so I latch my free hand around his waist.  My grip isn’t tight enough to trap him, but it’s enough to make him pause halfway to freedom.

“Not like that,” I quickly amend. “I don’t mind that you...that…Just not then, not there.  That’s--it’s not a good excuse.  It isn’t an excuse at all for what I did.  I just couldn’t stand to hear that right then.  It was just too much.”  
  
He shoulders slump again, eyes trained on our shoes.  “I know,” he says so faintly I almost didn’t hear him.  “I knew the second it was coming out of my mouth, but it was too late and--heh.  And I should have told you sooner.”   
  
“No, you _really_ shouldn’t have,” I say as gently as possible, realizing I’m repeating myself.  I move a little closer, until my chest is up against his side, and wish we weren’t both still holding rapidly cooling coffee.  Meeting his gaze with my own I explain, “I wasn’t in a place to hear that, Jed.  I’m sorry, but I wasn’t.”   
  
“And now?”

The reluctant hope in his eyes is heartbreaking and wonderful--all at the same time.  But I can’t lie to him.

“Everything’s been happening so fast that...I don’t know how this works, or what I’m doing.  I want to try, but I don’t want to hurt you by making promises I can’t be sure I’ll keep.”  
  
It isn’t the romance movie response; I know that, and so does he.  But to my relief, he doesn’t seem bothered or annoyed or disappointed.  Instead, he uses one finger of his coffee cup-laden hand to push a lock of hair back behind my ear, sending feverish, thrilling chills down my spine.  “That’s fair,” he says.

None of this magically makes the bad things go away--nothing will do that--but as painful as the conversation was to have, it’s a good kind of pain, a healing kind of pain.  We finish our coffee and stroll, neither caring when we’re ten minutes late to work.  It’s going to be strange trying to find the right balance in that; dating a coworker can be a little complicated, I’m told, and I’m not sure how that’s going to work.  But for right now, Jed and I are back on even footing and that’s good enough.

* * *

  
Wednesday I go to lunch and find Minako waiting for me.  She’s ordered _my_ favorite lunch-- the cordon bleu I try only to have on special occasions--and looks shamefaced.     
  
When I sit across from her she bursts into tears, telling me about the breakup with Nathan and apologizing for avoiding my calls.  “I know you didn’t mean to, Rei,” she says, wiping at her eyes.  There are more than a few people staring at us--especially after we switched to Japanese to avoid airing the _majority_ of our problems to the diner--but neither of us care.  Two of our hands are linked across the table, and I pass her a napkin with my free one.  Minako smiles briefly, dabbing it against her perfect, waterproof mascara.  “That was such a horrible--god, of all the damned things you managed to be rear-ended by _her_? And then she’s a freaking caterer.  From Japan.”

“It’s a little ridiculous, isn’t it?”  We both laugh.  Then, I stop, considering that.  “He told you all that?”

Minako shook her head, sighing.  “No, Mako did.  Er, Makoto.”  

“The caterer?”

At my stare, she laughs softly and says again, “We’ve been talking, too.  When they started seeing each other, she was given the impression Nathan and I were splitting up.”  
  
I frown, and Minako gives a self-deprecating smile.  “I can’t really cast stones, can I?  Shin and I...we were dating.  I didn’t like calling it that, but it’s what it was and I really don’t have any moral high ground beyond ‘I started cheating after you did.’  That’s still in the floodplains.”

I choke back a laugh, but Minako’s grin says it’s OK if I do.

And yet… “You know he’s staying with me...right?”

Her grin falters fractionally.  She nods.  “Yeah, I heard.  It’s...cool.  It’s good of  you.  Not that you need my permission, or anything, I just mean--I still care about him.  I didn’t really want him to just leave like that, but it was so awkward.”

“One bedroom places can be,” I agree, fully experienced in the pain.

We share a collective sigh, staring at our untouched plates.  The laughter starts again a moment later, giggling up in waves until we can’t help ourselves.  Until I know we’re going to be OK.

* * *

  
After that, the week passes more hopefully than the one before.  Though it includes packing my grandfather’s things into boxes, awkward not-quite-flirting in the office, and a strange sense of disconnectedness, I make it to the weekend without having another meltdown.  

It’s a good thing, too.  Jed picks me up from the house ten minutes past six, though I could as easily have gotten a lift from Nathan or driven myself.  I still have to do something about replacing my car, and decide what the hell I’m going to do with this big old house...and all of that can wait.  For now, I pile into the passenger side and sing along with the radio and Jed as we speed through the brilliant Los Angeles night toward that same, horrid hole of a karaoke club that was--I realize--sort of our first date.  

The place is packed, of course, but not so badly that we can’t weave through the throngs of the drunk and the hoping to be there soon to two back booths and a table crowded by our friends.  I’m only mildly surprised to see Shin there, looking for all the world like a mastiff hiding behind a kitten as Minako shields him from Usagi’s friendly interest.   More surprising is Nathan with the auburn haired chef perched in his lap, looking both pleased and embarrassed.  Ami and Zakiya sit next to them, their keen, friendly chatter clearly keeping Makoto as much as ease as they can.

Mamoru returns from the bar with a precariously perched tray of pitches and glasses.  I watch as Shin dives around Minako to help him steady the pitchers before they upend over Nathan’s head, and the good-natured bickering that ensues.  Somehow, despite the pounding music and throngs of people all around us, this little corner seems like peace and happiness and everything I’d been missing these past few months.

Fingers slip through mine and I look up to find Jed smiling down at me.  Returning the gesture, I squeeze his hand and pull him toward the two empty chairs waiting for us.


End file.
